Tag Archives: racism

DEAR PROTESTERS

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We see you. We hear you. We stand beside you.

But now, in spirit, bowed down 

by age, and illness, and disability

we no longer meet you at the march in body.

The feet and legs no longer allow

standing on the corners, hugging the curbs,

marching along with you one-by-one.

The hands and arms no longer allow

lifting the sign, carrying messages aloft,

marching along with you one-by-one.

We can still lift a pen, still lift a brush.

We know it is not nearly enough

to calm the heart, comfort the soul

or change a stiff and unrelenting mind.

It is enough to calm, comfort and awaken

our weakened, weary, warrior selves.

We send our spirits to stand beside you

as you march along one-by-one.

We can remind you and all who watch

that more stand with you than they can see.

You are not alone

as you march to keep us free.

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LITTLE AGITATOR,WHY? BECAUSE!

Louise Annarino, J.D.- The Little Agitator, age 2

Do you recall a nickname from your childhood? Perhaps what your mother called you, how she referred to you? What does it tell you about yourself now? Where do you feel it ? Can you find the love within it? Or, was it something that calls your identity into question ? Can you find humor in it? Or at least make peace with it ?

My Mom had 2 ways she frequently described me, called for me, referred to me. She told me and others I was her “Little Why-Because”. It was frustrating for her to have a daughter who questioned the “why” behind every order, demand or simple request. A daughter who could not accept a simple answer to why night happened.  Who persisted questioning every response, such as earth and sun rotation, with the question, “But, why does the earth rotate? and why around the sun?”. Her final answer was inevitably, “Because.” And, my final question was always, “But, why ‘because’?”.

The second nick-name and descriptor she used to define me to myself and to others was her “Little Agitator.” At first I was clueless at this description, for it seemed to upset her. The only agitator I knew was in the washing machine. It seemed to be  a wonderful thing because it helped make our clothes clean. I was flattered until I understood she did not intend to flatter me. Yet, it still seemed a fine thing to be. It challenged the dirt of lies and unkindness.It challenged the bullies in our neighborhood. It kept my brothers in their place. It seemed boys and men constantly picked apart girls and women. Agitating them seemed a fine way to clean up that mess. I became a stronger agitator with every effort to set thinks right.

So, despite fearing being an agitator in attempting to clean up the life and lives around me, I embraced the role. Despite exasperating family, friends, school teachers, professors, priests ( I was thrown out of religion class twice) and nuns by asking “why”, I relished the discussion and discovery in challenging the status quo. 

Being both a “why-because” and an “agitator” was a helpful combination. I was not a “know-it-all’; but, a “I know nothing so explain it, and you, to me.” Once I understood the place of conflict or hurt, I could agitate to make it better. Agitation alone is not enough to set things right. First we must take the time and ask enough questions to truly understand the need for change, and how to fix things without causing more pain.

American leaders in all walks of life are so focused on making money and attaining power they have not taken the time to ask questions and get to the final “because.” Why do we need a Dept. of Education? What does it do? Why do we need Social Security, SSI, Medicare and Medicaid? What do they do? Why do we need Affirmative Action, diversity and inclusion programs? What do they do? What messes have we Americans made? How do we clean them up? Why do we need courts, laws and regulations? What do they do?

You see my point. What is happening to our country now is an abomination. Elected leaders in the former Republican Party (now a dictatorship in the making) have never taken the time or made the effort to truly see the American people because they have not cared enough to do so, not cared enough to ask, “Why?” Their only concern is how can they reduce cost so we can give tax breaks to the wealthiest Americans we hope emulate. We look for scape-goats to explain why the “big boys” do not share with us, while we watch the crumbs from their table blow in the wind. Cost-cutting is a ruse because the Republican Administrations have repeatedly increased the national debt, while Democratic Administrations have repeatedly reduced the national debt. The tax cuts now headed our way will only increase the debt. The firing of government employees and dismantling of the watch-dog programs will only increase corruption and the national debt, as money disappears into the pockets of private contractors planning to take over education, the military, law enforcement, the postal service, health care and social services. Privatization introduces profit motive which increases costs, and provides greater investment returns for the wealthy who are being excused from tax burdens. Our middle class has been under a destruction plan since the 1980s. It is now coming to fruition. There cannot be a democracy without a strong middle class.

We need more agitators, asking more questions.

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DARK TIMES

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In the dark times

neither day nor night

bring about right.

We are forced

into our interior

and rely upon insight

and the subtle feel

of what our senses say is real.

We come to a stop,

to listen and recall

where we stand,

leaning against the wall

of remembered balance.

Perhaps we lean a bit,

Perhaps we sway

before trying to find our way

back into the light.

Standing still is no solution.

Going ahead despite our dread

of what can happen in the dark

is the only thing to be done.

It is the only way to bring back

brighter and happier days,

and nights when we can sleep

knowing we are safe.

Take my hand.

Together, we shall find our way.

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A LETTER TO US ALL

Dear Us:

Did you ever hear of the Golden Rule?  “Treat others as you would be treated.” When asked which of the ten commandments Moses shared with the Israelites was the most important, Jesus advised questioners to “Love others as I have loved you.” In the 60s, even non-believers of any religion, or of even the existent of God, followed the precept “Lead with your heart.” “Flower children” believed in love, for everyone, at all times. And those were turbulent times. We watched freedom riders maimed and killed, their busses set on fire, their murdered bodies hidden and buried in shallow graves. We watched the perpetrators of violence go free; the Citizen Councils ( marketing change for KKK) often included law enforcement and local judges. This is the America currently referred to when Trump supporters urge us all to “Make America Great Again.” They no longer wear white robes nor hide their faces. They wear red ties, dark suits and sometimes red hats.They pretend to be news anchors on FOX News and elsewhere. They pretend to be president like Elon Musk. The delivery system of hate may have changed; the racism and sexism have not. We are experiencing a backlash to the progress made over the past 50 years. It took 50 years for it to grow this strong.

I was a resident student advisor (RA) at Lincoln Tower on the OSU campus in Columbus, Ohio in the late sixties and early 70s. I was also a student activist. I had to become one because I believed in the Golden Rule. I watched Black students, Jewish students and women students derided and demeaned. I was privy to racist commentary because white students assumed they could say them to my white face with my full agreement. White men also felt safe making sexist comments to me despite the fact I was a woman. As an Italian-American I was sometimes mistaken for Jewish and heard my share of anti-semitic remarks. Much of the time such hate-talk was passed off as a joke. Whenever I heard the joke I stopped the speaker and explained nothing they said was funny, nor factual. I demanded such language never be used while in my presence. Those who just joined in to feel safe in the crowd became serious and apologized. The bullies did not apologize. But they shut up. “Stand up to shut them up” became part of every day life on campus. That is activism at its core.

I had a few empty suites on my floor due to an on-going criminal investigation. A mentally ill student was on trial for arson, having set fire in a suite the year before. Once the case was resolved, those suites were re-opened and spaces filled, as were other vacancies on my floor. Who moved in to those spaces? Black women looking for a safe space. Some had repeatedly been locked out of their rooms by white roommates. Several had threatening notes nailed to their door; threats to rape or kill them because they were Black. Most were ostracized and demeaned daily by white roommates. Their complaint to Student Affairs fell on deaf ears. When the spaces opened on my floor, they found refuge there.

Our dorm was typical for OSU where Black students made up a tiny percentage of the student population. My floor was unique. I held floor meetings to discuss expectations that we would all follow the Golden Rule. When I saw or heard of a racial incident I immediately intervened. Soon, I was doing racial mediation on a regular basis. Black women entered the elevator and experienced white women moving close to the emergency call button, with hand hovering, ready to cry for help from women just like themselves  returning exhausted from a day of classes ? Time for mediation! Call everyone together and talk it through. Day after day. Incident after incident. It was exhausting for the Black women, and the Black men who visited them, to face daily racial challenges and outright discrimination.

Another RA and two students worked with me to develop a racial mediation program in our dorm. Whenever the Student Judicial Council was handed a case involving a white student and a Black student in dispute, it was handed off to us to mediate the conflict. Our efforts were not always welcomed, but we persisted. Incidents of violence, write-ups to judiciary, and racial conflict decreased. Today, this program would be outlawed by the President who gleefully extorts OSU by threatening loss of education grants and federal funds for programs and research. OSU has caved to the bullies. OSU is not standing up to shut up the racism. It would cost money. And money is god in America, and on college campuses.

OSU is caving to racists and bullies again. And, not just OSU. Columbia University, indeed nearly all colleges and universities, if not all, are caving to racist bullies under the guise of following the law, accepting the lawless and illegal actions of the current administration. Following the law would require universities to protect the free speech rights of faculty and students, to abide by employment contracts and civil service laws to protect both administrative employees and faculty. Universities with law schools had readily-available experts to stand up, speak out and take action. I was an Associate Director of Law at Ohio University. There is a national organization of such attorneys. Why are they so silent? Why have university presidents and provosts not joined arms to defend their campuses against illegal searches and seizures of students? Why did Columbia University not come to the aid of Mahmoud Khalil and his family? If they did so in any way, it was neither apparent nor sufficient. 

The Poster Boy President leading the racist mob of greedy Americans spoke at the DOJ recently. His racist and personal attacks on lawyers, prosecutors and judges, was accepted and even cheered. Racism and greed cross all boundaries and sexual preferences, exist within every profession, religion and community group. It is a constant and persistent threat to the principles of democracy. Those whose racism had been laid low, who crawled under rocks to hide their sins, have crawled back out, empowered by the greed for wealth and power, threatened by those they spurn who have finally found success on a more equal path, and undermined by their own sense of failure despite the promise of an American Dream. Instead of blaming the greedy power-brokers of industry, banking and finance, politics and education they blame their fellow victims. Their racism blinds them to truth, and they willingly embrace false-hoods and disinformation. They would not recognize a fact if it stared them in the face. They would prefer to attack the fact and the experts offering the truth of the fact.

As a lawyer, as an educator, as a writer, I am heart-broken over the loss of my country, my Constitution and its guarantees of personal freedom for all persons who are in this country…no matter where they came from, or how they got here. That is the promise of America. That is the American Dream. Shopping for cheap goods because your existence only matters if those power-brokers can make a buck off you cannot fill the place freedom once filled within the American heart and psyche. Woke? Woke is what is required to survive the on-slaught against a free people who simply want to find a good-paying job, buy a house, feed and educate their family. The power-brokers want us to stay asleep. Like children, we are angels in our sleep, causing them no discomfort, and quietly staying out of their way as they take over our economy, our government institutions, our military, our banking system, our educational systems and local/public schools…even our post office! 

Wake up, my fellow lawyers, my fellow professors, my fellow school teachers, my fellow social workers, my fellow  counselors, my fellow retail workers, my fellow waitresses and caterers, my fellow babysitters, my fellow students, my fellow Catholics and people of faith, my fellow Americans. Wake up and stay woke! We have work to do, if we can stay awake to do it loudly and persistently. This is no time to lie down and feign sleep. God knows, none of us sleep well theses days.

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Filed under COMMENTARY, FAMILY STORIES, POLITICS

LIGHT CANDLES

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Altars of sacrifice are all around.

Candles of prayer light the ground.

Darkness recedes under great duress.

Lawyers are in full-court press.

Evil lurks and lunges until we despair;

its laughter and cheers rend the air.

Turbulent times make us all too aware

how humans carry a heavy load of fear,

how ready we are to disappear

before we lose heart 

and break apart.

We are tempted to remain abed

and close our eyes against  the dread

of monsters who long played dead

and hid under rocks, yet lived in our heads.

We live lives of useless malcontent

ready to blame the innocent

for acts of contrition that belong

not to the weak, but, to the strong.

Unable to admit we could be wrong,

we allow the liars to string us along.

We vote them in to replace our lost pride.

We set all reason and facts aside.

We wear red hats with slogans to hide

a weakness too fearful to abide.

When will such depravity end?

What harm done in the interim?

Soft exhales out in metered prose.

Screams trapped within a calm pose.

This is how every morning begins.

Candles relit on altars within.

Resistance alights again and again.

Another hour, another day, and then?

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D.E.I. and I

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I have stayed away from words, 

breathless, in my grief,

for too long.

Diversity is my faith.

Equity is my hope.

Inclusion is my love.

Each breath I take is a promise

that things will be better someday.

And, they have been for a time,

in places expanding across space,

across multiple divides.

In a school, then university.

In a church, then a community.

Across a state, on national forums

Each breath inhaled the hate,

expanded and expelled love in its place.

Breaths took down barriers, created programs,

enacted policies, changed syllabi,

created courses and news ways of seeing,

new avenues of progress, new ways of being.

The backlash always came,

in drips and drabs, all the same.

But this! This! It is a fearsome game.

It is not D.E.I. which they decry.

They want to see us hold our breath

and die.

They SNAP food from the mouths of babes.

They ask the aged and disabled to work their own miracles,

heal themselves without medic-aid,

waste away, and die.

They place tariffs on those who stood at our side.

Making us all pay more for less to save their pride.

They fill their pockets with our labor,

changing coins to crypto for their greedy favor.

They extort heroes who fight to protect freedom world-wide

so that dictators and killers can be by their side.

They miss the days when the few controlled the many.

They refuse to compete, or share even one penny;

pennies earned from our labor, not theirs.

Lately, it seems we have not got a prayer.

We seldom did. But, do not despair.

What we did have was the freedom to try.

Now, our hard-won freedom to speak and act is denied.

We are being denied the right to even try.

We still have one another, and our God-given rights.

We will never allow those to be shoved aside.

And at the end of this life we shall hold hands and sigh

We tried. 

We tried.

We tried!

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SELF-CUTTING

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It appears my country is bleeding out

from wounds cut both shallow and deep.

Blood flows from old wounds reopened.

Those hurt the worst, do not doubt.

We see patterns of hate where cuts scar.

MAGA rubs the body politic until it burns.

It wears long sleeves to clothe and hide

the wounds of Project 2025.

Our collective guilt has finally won out.

Cutters inhabit the White House

screaming fake rage and fake news

that makes great TV 

but leaves the world crying to see

the death of a once-great democracy.

Stop the bleeding we beg and plead.

Staunch the flow, lower those hands

cutting so eagerly 

to destroy the place we once felt safe,

if not perfectly, at least happily, free.

Cutters cannot stop themselves.

It is up to you and me.

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AWAKE AT TWO

I started to wake when I was two.

Before I knew 

to look at anything or anyone

for something other than

who they were,  or

what they could do.

Color, gender, wealth or age

meant nothing to me.

I was almost brand new.

I had no context to see

why such differences

should matter to me.

Mom and I were shopping

in the bargain basement

of the Five and Dime store

when I suddenly awakened in awe

to the most beautiful woman I ever saw.

“Mommy, I shouted with delight.

Look at the chocolate lady.”

The lady smiled. Mommy frowned.

She took my hand, turned me around,

and bending down 

instructed me in a hushed voice,

“It is not nice to comment 

on how anyone looks.”

The Lady saw my distress and guessed

I felt I had done something bad.

But, she smiled as if she were glad

and simply asked me with tender care,

“Do you like chocolate, little one?”

In joyful glee I replied “it is my very favorite thing.”

Mommy sighed, and apologized 

for her daughter’s lack of manners.

“No need” was the reply. 

And with a loving smile she knelt at my side.

“Thank you,” she said, “for seeing me

and thinking of me so lovingly.

And so I learned that day to stay awake

and notice all the wonderful people

surrounding me,

sharing love so easily.

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COLORFUL GRACE

Acrylic on canvass by Louise Annarino, 2-22-2025

Nature is a generous patron, and quite witty

She paints our world and makes it pretty

with a variety of colors, none like another.

Yet, each color is sister and brother

on the wide spectrum of light

which turns us away from night.

Not content to withhold her grace

She asks each of us to simply embrace

All the colors of our world,

all the joy her works unfurl.

She asks us to find our own space

among the wonders she has put in place.

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Filed under art work, POETRY

THE BOOT

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Bodies tell stories.

The boot is on the right foot.

It lifts up the right side.

It tilts the body left.

The left leg shortened,

for a short while;

long enough for the right 

heel to heal the heil.

The right heel steals balance.

The right heal steals my right

to take walks, plant seeds,

to talk with ease, laugh aloud.

The right heel pains me,

isolates me,

leaves me motionless.

Soon, the boot will be off.

Therapy will begin to complete

the healing needed to stop

the pain in the heel, and heal the heil.

The extra weight will be lifted.

Both feet will balance the gait

of a body ready to move forward,

beyond the lies, beyond the hate.

Time to heal, if patience allows.

I ask so little it seems;

and yet, too much for now.

Now, when words destroy bonds

formed from shared adversity,

in fear of diversity and loss of power.

I stumble through the day, booted

by the weight of the jack boot

on a leg that has born too much weight

of too much fear, too heavy a hate.

And still, despite the added weight

and uneven gait, I march on,

in my own, stilted way,

on this President’s,

not King’s,

Day.

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