Tag Archives: sexism

CONNECTED

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Some losses are too great to be borne.

Some losses are so huge they force us to mourn.

Some losses sift sinew and bone,

ideals and beliefs, tattered and worn.

Some losses pull hearts apart

smiling tears of grief, we feel all alone.

We pretend such loss is not our own

when watched on screens, viewed from afar.

But, connection is more than geography.

Some losses cross borders we cannot see.

Drought, floods and storms floor us all equally.

Bombs rain down on other cities 

and beat us all bloody, in hidden anatomy.

Threads bind us together in an ethernet.

One stitch connecting us here and there, 

of which we are determinedly unaware.

Instead we pretend, through word and prayer,

when what we really must do is give a care.

Some losses are too great to be borne.

Some losses are too great to ignore.

For, when we do, they lead to war.

Like children we make up games

and pretend life is merely a game to play.

Business and politics play out games’ themes.

Media reports but no one referees.

The games of politics and war become a melee.

But, life is much more than a game to play.

Some losses are too great to be borne.

Some losses are too great to ignore.

Our votes are not tokens to be tossed in a loss.

Our votes are connections which must not be lost.

Some losses are too great to be borne.

Some losses are too great to ignore.

Please, stop playing long enough

to go vote on behalf of ALL of us.

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TEAR DOWN THE WALLS

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Let me tell you. Being a woman who is fully human is not a given. It is always a hard-won position. Too many dismiss women as not fully human. Women and their ideas are called “empty-headed.” Women are called “weak-willed.” Women are called “frail.” Men are are not thought to brainless or empty-headed. Men are not thought to lack willpower. Men are not expected to be weak. There are stronger and more respectful words for men. I am all for respecting men. I only ask for the same in return. I do not always get that respect. Even if I had remained in my hometown, married a “nice Italian-Catholic boy” which was my parents’ most fervent hope, I would not have been able to avoid such disrespect. But, I might have had a man to come to my defense. More likely, not. Men know how to avoid a fight. Their lives depend on reconciliation to  bullies. Male aggression can be a fierce and unpredictable experience; especially, by men with gangs behind them. 

Bullies come in all guises. They are not just “street toughs” with cigarette packs stored in the rolled-up sleeves of their tee shirts, tatooed sleeves exposed in warning messages as in my childhood neighborhood. Boys and girls both learned to give them a wide berth. Bullies also exist in board rooms, school rooms, and court rooms.

I did not stay and be a well-behaved little girl all my life. I became a lawyer. I entered courtrooms where early-on I was usually the only woman to make an appearance on a client’s behalf that day. Maya Wiley, spoke of her experience as a lawyer yesterday, in an appearance on MSNBC. Ms. Wiley carries two strikes against her. She is not only female; but, like former Prosecutor and Attorney General of California Kamala Harris, she is  a woman of color. She is Black. She lives in a world where the unspoken message is, “If you are Black, step back.” This is the silent message in the brain of too many Americans. I am a white woman. Yet, I find some empathy in our positions as a female.

Ms. Wiley mentioned episodes in her practice of law as a federal district attorney which matched my own experience. The judge, despite her presence at the Justice department table ready to plead her case, pretended not to know she was an attorney. The judge dismissed her entire identity in that moment. He cut her. She bled. She still bleeds.

On several occasions early in my career I made an appearance on behalf of a client. I sat with other attorneys, all men, in the courtroom waiting for my case to be called. It was called and I approached the Bench. “Good morning, your Honor, I am Louise Annarino, an attorney with the Legal Aid Society. This is my client…the plaintiff in the case before you today.” Standard introduction. Not a standard response from the judge, however. Instead he said with a smirk toward my opposing counsel, a man, “Young lady, you cannot just waltz in here without a lawyer. Come back after you get one. Next!” 

Holding back my anger at his attempt to shame and dismiss me…and my female client…from “his” courtroom, I answer, “ Your Honor, I am an attorney. I am representing this woman who is my client. Let me repeat for you that I am a lawyer from the Legal Aid Society.” He responded,

“And, I told you you must be a lawyer to represent this client.” By this time my client leaned in and whispered to me, “I thought you were a lawyer!” I could barely hear her over the laughter of the male attorneys seated behind me awaiting their cases to be called. The judge laughed with them. I did not. I said, “Perhaps you are not listening to me, or are hard of hearing. I shall give you the befit of the doubt.” I am a licensed attorney in the state of Ohio and I am not going anywhere.” He heard my case. My client had her successful day in court. We both bled that day.

I returned to the office and told my colleagues what had happened. A woman attorney said, “Oh my, I forgot to warn you, we women always carry our license with us and lay them on the bench before we start.” I took my license off the wall and put it into my briefcase. I wish I could say that was the only episode, but it was not. Not every judge, nor every attorney cut me. But, I still bled. I bleed writing this account. All women bleed. We have become experts at stanching the flow. Right now, you are thinking of jokes about our menses ever month. Stop it! Those bleeds bring new life into the world. We honor those bleeds. We do not honor the dishonor of men cutting us down to size where we can be ignored as not fully human, not fully equal; cut and bled.

Kamala Harris was interviewed my Mika Byrezezinski at a Know Your Value Conference in San Francisco describing what it was like to face barriers of discrimination and break down walls. She said, “‘When you break things, it is painful. You get cut, and you bleed, and it will be worth it — But be very clear. It will be and can be a very painful process.’ Kamala Harris knows this. Maya Wiley knows this. I know this. Every woman who breaks down barriers knows this. Women break down barriers every day…int their homes, at their businesses, in boardrooms, in school rooms; and yes, in courtrooms. They break down barriers in friendship relationships, in love relationships,  in business relationships. We still do not have an ERA (Equal Rights Amendment). Why do men need barriers from women? We love them. We respect them. We honor them. It is time for them to do the same. And to those women, too afraid to break down such barriers, we get it.  We know the position you are in. We bleed for you, too.

We say to all people, as Reagan said to Khrushev, “Tear down this wall” so that none of us need bleed ever again. Vote for Kamala Harris in November. We need each other. We need each other healthy, whole and safe.

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PAVED ROADS

Station Road rebuilding 2 by Jonathan Wilkins is licensed under CC-BY-SA 2.0

The road to success is paved with cash.

Numbers add up with each step.

Roads are blown to dust

when there is no money to keep them up.

Campaigns are long roads in America.

The longer the road, the higher the cost.

Those who run races along America’s roadways

are not so fleet-footed as they appear.

Their feet often slide on cash piled too high.

Their feet often slow on cash piled too low.

Whenever you wonder “why”, follow the money,

its ebb and flow, its surrogate paths

to hide those in the know.

Senators and Congressmen cannot always follow

the path of a lead runner when the cash is low.

They find new paths where money will cushion

a challenging and uphill election or re-election.

Still wondering “why?” And who decides?

Ask the right questions. Swallow your pride.

Then you will know. You are along for a ride.

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USE YOUR WORDS

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How often we tell children

“Use your words.”

But, we forget too easily

that words have power

only if they are heard, 

and not dismissed breezily.

Men decided long ago

not to listen to women.

So many lies are told

to quiet women’s voices.

Eve has never been forgiven

for opening men’s eyes 

to painful truths.

Women’s voices are not more shrill.

Women’s screams are not made

to give men their thrills.

Women’s truths are too often

pushed aside to save male pride.

Doors are slammed shut

against voices women can trust.

“Use your words?”

How soon we forget.

Pain is the great motivator

of forgetfulness.

It deadens speech.

It silences words.

Bullies remind us of our pain

to shut our mouths

and drown truth out.

“Use your words!”

Do not forget their power

in the kitchen, in the bedroom,

in the schoolroom, in the boardroom.

“Use your words,” minute by minute,

hour after hour, until the day comes

you  can vote your own power

to “use your words.”

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WRITING ON THE WALL

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The swastika was painted on the outside gym wall.

Underneath the words

“Die, fish eaters, die.”

Anti-semitism is broad

and crosses lines

in so many ways.

Victims are sought among Jews,

Catholics, and Romany, too.

No one is excused

from the hate and need to show

that the hater is bigger, stronger,

in control of a world

they feel is out-of-control.

Seeing hate painted on my school

was frightening to see but not the end

of the feelings inside, the birth of my pride.

Cowards in the night sent me such fright.

Unleashing their hate, leashed my own.

There is no place for hate 

in my world, nor yours.

Cowards and bullies never win.

They always over-extend.

Hate destroys them from the inside, not out.

Love builds up inside their victims, then out

it flows to every other sister and brother.

What do I know?

What do I fear?

Not a swastika, nor white hood.

I fear those who refuse to do good;

who remain silent and unmoving

in the face of a racism, sexism,

anti-semitism and hate speech;

who laugh at jokes meant to harm and disarm;

who refuse to recognize the alarm

screaming in protest and marching along

streets paved with prejudice and fear.

Who see the writing on the wall

and walk away to gated communities

and streets paved with gold.

They allow the old stories to take hold.

I walk the streets where the injured gather

amid the brave souls who know what matters,

and protect those under attack.

The brave who insist we take truth and love back.

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BORN IN THE USA

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Being born in the USA

does not make me better.

It makes me luckier.

Winning the lottery

brings euphoria.

Sharing the winnings

brings me satisfaction.

That is love in action.

My question is always

one taught me by JFK.

Not, “what can my country 

do for me?”.

But, “what can I do 

for my country?”

The only way

to make America better

is to remind myself

I do not matter

more than any other 

American, immigrant

or refugee.

I do not matter 

more than any other

African, Asian, Latino

nor European.

Each of us hopes to be free.

Each of us has our own journey.

Some of us are luckier than others.

All of us are sisters and brothers.

My country is better

when I am better, kinder, truer

to the home of the brave

and the land of the free

where democracy demands

I stay on guard against those

who would embrace autocracy.

This is what America asks of me.

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THROUGH-LINES

Supreme Court Building 1 First by Carol M Highsmith is licensed under CC-CC0 1.0

Before amendments,

only white men could vote

under a constitution meant

to protect white male power

and their wealth to control the hour.

The hours of Women’s Labor.

The hours of Black Labor.

The hours of Asian Labor

on railroads crossing the nation

with white men’s wealth protected

in box cars, from southern fields

and northern industries.

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Oh, we can easily see

why Originalist judges seek

to turn back time and make weak

the power gained by women’s suffrage,

African-American civil rights fights,

and Japanese reparation gains.

Each accomplishment a refrain

against white male supremacy.

There is a through-line of meritocracy

from serfdom and caste

until at last

white men must choose 

which they love more;

their country or their power,

their countrymen or their wealth.

There is no stealth 

as they seek to regain

what they once owned.

The rest of us!

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FROM UNDER THE ROCKS

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I cried the night Barack Obama was elected President.

Tears of joy released the exhaustion 

which I had carried door-to-door

for more than a year to those who too often

defiled all courtesy and shared community 

with unrecognized racism, or even with vile threats,

as I pleaded for their vote for HOPE.

While my colleagues cheered with broad smiles

I lay my head in my arms and sobbed. 

And, when they asked why I cried

I replied

“The backlash will be fierce 

by those who now recognize that white power

is no longer strong enough to support their hate.”

It was clear my fellow citizens would not long tolerate

power in the hands of an African-American.

The rage would be unleashed and revealed

from where it had lain hidden 

within our neighborhoods and institutions.

From that day on every African-American child

born after this date would enter a world where

dreams could be fulfilled, no matter how wild.

I rejoiced at this change of perspective,

but knew this would be just too much for a nation 

whose  history was built on white male supremacy.

Two steps forward. One step back. Progress moves

on and off-track until we wonder if we must go back.

We are not going back, just reconnoitering to find a new track.

That night, I dried my tears and planned my attack

ready to fight what I knew was coming and who would lead,

those who would block our progress at every turn

willing to let the country suffer and burn,

willing to break laws and undermine elections,

threaten and attack prosecutors and judges,

willing to engage in insurrection.

They have come up from under their rocks and we can see

those who have always threatened our democracy.

We know the way forward and we are strong.

So strong they know they have lost their control and that we

are moving beyond a world where only the good ole’ boys belong.

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DEFAMATION

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Words can cut too close to the bone. 

Words’ outside meaning fires the skin.

Words’ inside meaning, hidden from view

fires up hateful spew, just as true.

Words can cut too close to the bone.

splitting back the skin of what we have known.

Words open gaps to see within

what we have long hidden beneath our thin skins.

Words can make the blood flow strong,

too hard and too fast for too long.

Words flow beneath the marrow

to the depths of what we think we know.

Words pulse with their own beat

dancing through bodies to the soles of our feet.

Words leave bloody footprints to follow

until all blood is lost and our souls become hollow.

This is how words kill.

From outside in then out again

opening wounds we did not know

had crusted over wounds from long ago.

Words tear scars opening wounds anew

while ripping apart the peace we had found

to cure and to heal hate with love.

Words tell us love can never be true.

Words tell us love is not real;

if real, then, love is too weak to abide.

Words help us bury love so deep it subsides

and only hate can hold court inside.

Words boost false pride

that I am better than you.

I die inside as I try to kill the few

who speak the truth you once knew.

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THE SPACES BETWEEN

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Words on the page matter not at all.

It is the space between the words

where mystery dwells.

I fist my hand around the pen,

my defending weapon of choice,

while I struggle with stories to tell.

I do not explore the words;

but, the spaces between and aside

while I open my self wide.

We may read the words together,

and search the space between words

hand in hand, eye to eye, heart to heart.

No hate can break the bond of words, 

shared in the spaces between, apart.

And, then, we can know all there is to know

as we join our empty spaces

deep and dark, side by side.

Reach for the stars if you will.

I prefer to explore one another

between the the words of languages 

unknown, unable to be spoken.

None of what is written matters at all.

It is the space between words

where love rises and falls.

Hate cannot find its way in the dark.

But, love can. 

Love carries its own light within

the spaces between the words.

Love glows in the dark.

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