My reference to “you” is the collective use of the word, not personal to you or any specific person.
I have reflected on this my entire life. The truth described is obvious. But not so simple. It is hard to hug someone holding an AK 47 while calling you hateful names and threatening to harm you. It is hard to listen to someone who thinks you are a cockroach to be stamped out. it is hard to love someone as they actively destroy whatever you need to survive. For too long we white people have watched such behavior silently, or with comment and shakes of our heads. Praising ourselves for our compassion and sensitivity. And meanwhile the violent words have become so acceptable, so forgivable that the violence becomes inevitable. The liars who say the right thing but would allow the mob to rape or lynch me while they prayed for my soul and cried over me are of no comfort to me. I have had enough of the hypocrisy. I have had enough of the lies. I have had enough of the silent acceptance and remorse. We are so worried about the suffering of white supremacists who fear a loss of power they never really had, but seized as their right, does not appeal to me. My sense of justice falls into the “tough love” category. Sorry, you are afraid. Buck up. We are all afraid of something. Face your fear. Find its source within yourself, where all fear resides. Handle it within you. Stop blaming others for it. Do not expect anyone else to solve your fears. Want help? Sure, Glad to help you work through it. Want to admit your wrongs and seek reconciliation? I am all ears. Want to become a more loving member of the larger community? I will join with you. Need someone to vent to with honesty and contrition? I can handle that. This reminds me of the suggestion that God gives us all the grace we need to carry our cross; but only enough to carry our own cross. Need a reminder you are given the grace to change? I shall remind you. Want to lift up your cross and carry it forward? I shall walk beside you. Sometimes, finger pointing is absolutely necessary.
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Compassion for Hypocrites
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WHEN WILL IT END?
We live with
closed fists over open hearts
torn asunder
by deliberate blunder
and refusal
to admit
the truth
or face accusal
for children in cages,
embracing lies as a virus rages,
“good people” who kill and intimidate,
images debated or inflated,
hatred masked
while hate is spewed
on his behalf.
And where does democracy reside
while the citizens must flee
the streets of gas and rubber bullets?
And where does democracy reside
while Bugalloo and Proud Boys
take a ride in camo trucks with
flags flown high through our neighborhoods
to mystify and terrify while “standing by”?
And where does democracy reside?
In long lines at too few polling places,
In court rooms overthrowing voting rights
and pre-existing conditions,
in mail rooms slowed by his intent to defraud,
in Air Force One where plots are made
against our allies and ourselves?
And where does democracy reside?
And when will it end?
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Not My Job to Handle Your Feelings
Over 25 years ago our state bar association convened a group of women lawyers, 2 from each county, to address sexist laws and regulations, and court practices. I represented the county in which I practiced law. We met on Malcolm X’s birthday so I implored the group to also address racism as well. It seemed, I suggested, that only addressing sexism was insufficient to create justice. And as Malcolm said,” If you are not part of the solution, you are part of the problem”. The group agreed to expand its review and its reach.
The breakout sessions were useful. We formed sub-groups to research specific areas. At the close of the day the Chief Justice of our state Supreme Court, a man, and the president of the state bar association, a man, spoke to the group. They appeared a bit unsettled by our enthusiasm for the project. My comments citing Malcolm X contributed to their appearing to be ill at ease. One of the men advised us to ” go easy on the men” because our efforts and comments would ” hurt their feelings” and make them uncomfortable. They told us we need to “help them with their feelings” as we discussed and delivered our findings. It might be too upsetting for them.
That did it! I rose up out of my seat and announced that as women, and as African-Americans the lawyers in the room already had to handle our own emotions because of the sexism and racism we experienced from those same men. And it took all our strength to do so. It was not our job to handle their feelings, too. They would have to handle their own feelings.
I explained that we agreed to help our bar association and our state courts correct that sexism and racism which had made our justice system so oppressive to women and African-Americans. The least the men could do was handle their own feelings, responses and actions.the room grew so quiet one could have heard a pin drop. The men paled, and shrugged helplessly. They had no clue how offensive their comments had been. They were gentlemen and I was …. not.
This belief that the oppressed are expected to ” tread lightly” so as to ” protect men’s feelings” is exactly was the police ask if those protesting the police brutality that hides behind the Blue Line. That is not our job. The police who understand better than any the effects of police brutality need to handle their own feelings and their own actions. And those who stand up and advise us to not make them ” uncomfortable” ask too much.
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End the 400 Years Long War in America
As a small child, I asked my Dad who served in WWII why soldiers called the Japanese “Japs” and worse names; and he explained: it is hard to kill another person, almost impossible to take human life. So soldiers use derogatory names which denigrate opposing soldiers to non-human status. Only after depriving the opposite side of their humanity can you kill them.
I noticed this during the Vietnam-Nam war when we used “ gooks ”. During the Iraq war, we used “towel heads” etc.
This is also what we did to justify slavery, using a word I can never utter, but so ingrained I do not need to tell you what it is. It is the same word we use to justify police brutality and murder of our fellow citizens. It is the word we use to justify our taking of Black lives ability to survive and thrive from cradle to grave post-slavery.
We may not use the word aloud but it has become part of our lexicon.
Some wars go on for hundreds of years. Some wars do not end by bringing home soldiers. But this war must end now. We must “bring back” law enforcement. To a place it has never been.
Instead, it has returned to the slave era of trackers searching out and punishing runners.
Instead we have a president, Vice-President, Attorney General and much of our populace, including police unions who have militarized our law enforcement. Instead, they militarize common citizens and encourage private militias armed for war.
It is no coincidence that we have allowed this to happen. Defund the militarization of law enforcement. Stop the militarization of private militias. End the war.
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MAKING WAR AGAINST DEMOCRATIC MAYORS: ANOTHER GEORGE III ?
MAKING WAR AGAINST DEMOCRATIC MAYORS: ANOTHER GEORGE III ?
In the late 1760s and 17770s the British Parliament and George III, King of England pursued a policy of “law and order” in the cities of his colony, America. When a group of unruly colonials who had been protesting unequal treatment as British citizens and dumped a shipload of tea into Boston Harbor, the loss of fortune angered him so that he sent British troops to Boston and closed Boston Harbor. The harsh treatment by British troops escalated tensions. further, leading to more unrest. He began confiscating their weapons and arresting the protest leaders. This infuriated the colonials and the march to Lexington and Concord to subdue Massachusetts colonists led to “the shot heard round the world” (Ralph Waldo Emerson).
We have president who believes he has unlimited powers of a monarch or despotic leader. A president who follows the lead of authoritarians of Russia, N. Korea, and China. His “best friends” and “very strong leaders” and “briliant” people. We have a president who does not recognize the freedoms assured our citizens under our Constitution. We have a president whose only interest is in consolidation and retention of his power as president, supported by a Republican Party with the same goal.
And now, he threatens war against cities led by Democratic Mayors. Republicans allow him to attack their political opposition, the Democratic Party. In Georgia, with Republican governor at the helm, a Republican governor has sued the Mayor after she mandated masks. She followed CDC and WHO guidelines, to save the lives of Atlanta residents she has sworn to protect from the covid pandemic rampaging her community. In Portland, lacking local Republican leadership, our George III sent in camouflaged secret police, using them as a private army, to enforce his will, and suppress the citizens protesting racist and unequal treatment as our colonial ancestors did in 1770s.
In response to King Georg III and the British Parliament Thomas Paine wrote a pamphlet titled COMMON SENSE in which he rejected the monarchy and called George III a “royal brute.” He argued that the colonials create an American Republic, a state without a king. And they did. The new country’s political philosophy, as defined by Thomas Paine and enshrined in our Constitution and laws holds that elected representatives, not a monarch, should govern the ship of state. Citizens decide who governs them, and decide other issues, on the basis of majority rule. And perhaps most importantly, Paine’s theory of “republicanism” demanded adherence to a “code of virtue” which became a guiding principle of the patriots/protesters conduct. This concept of adherence to a code of conduct established the norms of government, and its purpose was to establish a common good for all those living in the new republic.
The Republican Party in leadership today, and the president/despot they support, refuse to adhere to the code of conduct and norms adopted by our founding fathers. They jeer when a Democratic Senators, Congresspersons,Governors or Mayors adhere to the code. They shame citizen protester/patriots who insist upon the code and the promised freedoms of our Constitution, using words like the profane “libtards”.
We have a president and Republican leadership which creates chaos and then implements “law and order” strategy to suppress the opposition in the streets of our cities, and to suppress the vote of its political opposition. Just as the British Parliament supporting GeorgeIII did so long ago.
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QUARANTINE
I live
in the shadow of my
self,
a dark reflection
of what I once was
but will never be
again.
In the silence of pages
left unturned,
amid the heartbeats
of fearful
resilience
and courage
yet untested.
How it will end
holds greater power than when.
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Thank You Public Servants
The clock reads 3:18 am. I lie in bed swallowing a muffled scream at a final unexpected jolt from a nearby lightening strike. The first time this night I awoke from the storm I checked the time. It was 1:28 a.m. The storm resounding with heavy thunder, and lightening strikes scorching the air has lasted a full 2 hours. The urge to look out the window and check the nearby homes drags me from bed just as I hear the sirens of Worthington’s firetrucks. I watch the lights reflect off wet buildings up on High Street, surprised when they turn onto my street. The pumper truck stops in front of my house. Is it my own apartment building which has been hit by lightening? No, it is that of my neighbor across the street. The kind lady in the delightfully periwinkle blue house with storybook trim she tells me her daughter hates is inside. My urge to run and help seems overwhelming. I know I will be in the way so settle for getting dressed. I am ready for I know not what.
The fire personnel are pounding on her front door shouting so loud I hear them clearly through my windows, “Your house is on fire. Everybody out.” A moment’s hesitation then a cracking sound as they force entry. Firemen push into the house. The glow of flashlights show their progress through the darkened interior as smoke billows overhead. A burnt smell and smoke’s essence hang in the air amid the showering droplets of rain. Thunder continues to rumble in the distance. The sound of the engine pumping water to the hoses being dragged from the second truck, across the lawn and into the house beats a steady rhythm. Flashing truck lights pulse at the speed of my heartbeats, wounded and warmed by the sight of so many brave fire personnel rushing to protect my neighbor, her home and our neighborhood.
All I can manage is to get dressed, while they manage a very dangerous situation, weighed down in hot and heavy protective gear, moving in darkness to find the source of the fire and extinguish its power to destroy. “Such love that they are willing to lay down their life for another,” I think. It awakens my soul even as my body longs for a night’s rest. How grateful I am for Worthington’s fire and police who guard us at their own peril in the dead of night when our fears are so close to the surface and we seem so alone in the world.
It is now 4:08 am. There are 6 trucks on our street and flashing lights around the corner onto High Street. Obviously more than a single company responded to the fire. Community is too small a word for where such dedication lies. Humanity more fully defines it. These public servants define humanity. They remind us we are not alone, but part of a larger human community. I wonder anew at the public and legislative attacks (never forget SB 5) on our public workers whose only purpose is to be there for us, to keep public services available at all hours for every small mundane matter, and for every middle of the night emergency. These men and women are servants to our community. Let us remember them when we vote; not just when we vote on tax levies to support emergency personnel, but to protect their right,and the right of all of our public workers to unionize,to seek fair wages and benefits, safe and sound workplaces, and human dignity. Let us not only support them; but, let us never support those who attack them. It is now 7:33 am. A single truck and its crew stands guard, ready in case the embers from last night’s fire rekindle. The charred hole along the roofline of my neighbor’s home testifies with an acrid odor the threat which still lingers. Yet, we feel safe because our servants stand guard for us as we go about our day.
Thank you,good and faithful servants of the Worthington community,and our humanity.
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DAVE
DAVE
4-2-2013
Louise Annarino
Too often poems
fall out of my eyes
washed onto my cheeks
by tears of joy
or sorrow.
Joy to have known you
in shared sinew and bone
with a long history
carried in common DNA
and family name.
Sorrow at the loss
of a future of mutual
knowing,sharing,caring
for those whom we both
love……………always.
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HUNGER, Louise Annarino
HUNGER
Louise Annarino
4-23-2013
I hunger
for bleu cheese and gazpacho
in a chilled glass
on a hot day
after mowing the lawn,
cutting tart scents
from dry sod,
inviting rain
to keep it green, and alive
like my love for you.
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annarino writes 
Removing Cataracts,Louise Annarino,7-24-2014
Some lessons are worth learning more than once. This is true of the lessons learned from my recent and first cataract surgery. I expected that the cloudy view of the world from my left eye would be replaced by a cleaner and crisper field of vision. What I did not anticipate was the amount of light which would permeate my new, unclouded lens. When I close the left eye darkness descends. My right lens is simply grimy, eroded and covered by the detritus of all it has seen over 65 years, like a sheer curtain keeping out much of the light. I had no idea how darkened my world had become, the curtain’s descent was so gradual.
My house is so much brighter, even on the cloudy days we have been having. I don’t need more lamps or brighter bulbs, as I had thought. Light reflects from the softest, most absorbent surfaces, not merely from mirrors. Candle light does light up the dining table enough to see the food on my plate. I had forgotten how much light there is in the world. How bright a future can be. I expect even more light after my second surgery.
It is not until we open our minds and hearts, are willing to open new doors, bravely step out into unknown territory, and curiously step into unexpected experiences that we realize how limited our lives and how clouded our thoughts have become; and, how dark our futures seem.
I thought I enjoyed my garden. I had only known half of it. There is no dearth of bees as I had thought; their tiny bodies now gleam against the backlight of flowers, more colorful than I had imagined. Tiny bugs move soil around the base of each plant, opening tunnels for rain water to reach roots. I thought reading had become burdensome. I no longer struggle to pull words from the page; they leap off onto beams of light straight to the retina. I thought my skin and hair had grown dull with age; but, they glow from the energy speeding through my body, alight with oxygen and sugars to grow new and younger cells. I thought the future could only grow darker. I was wrong. The future always glows brighter.
I dreaded the first surgery, terrified it could leave me blind, or with even less vision. I feared my body might reject the new lens, or my body would suffer an allergic reaction to the medications used to make the surgical procedure physically and emotionally comfortable. My worst fear was that I would not be able to hide my fear. I feared I would have a massive panic attack, causing havoc for the dedicated caregivers working so diligently on my behalf. I feared letting them down and shaming myself.
These are the fears I carry in my bag of tricks. They sometimes keep me from bravely opening my heart, stepping into new territory, and exploring unexpected experiences. When I was young the bag of fears I carried was nearly empty, so light I barely noticed; certainly not so heavy it stopped my explorations of the unknown future. As I grew older the bag grew fuller, heavier and more burdensome. No more. I dumped out the bag’s contents this week! The more light let in by my cataract surgery, the lighter my bag became. I cannot wait for my second surgery. I know I learned this many times before; but,some lessons are worth learning more than once.
If only each of us could remember this lesson, unload our bags of fear, and open our hearts to each other. If we could open the closed doors which block us from one another and step bravely into each other’s lives with light and hope instead of fear…I can only imagine how exciting and enlightening that would be. I am so glad I had this surgery. If anyone tells you that you need cataract surgery, don’t hesitate to say, “Great, I am ready!” The truth is is we all need cataract surgery. Some lessons are worth learning more than once.
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Tagged as aging, cataract surgery, change, eyecare, fear, health care, medicine, philosophy, senior citizens