Who among us is okay?

 

A good number of Americans were cheering this week as John Fetterman, still recovering from a stroke in the spring, took to the debate stage with TV personality Dr. Oz. Fetterman has lingering problems with speech, so he was sometimes hesitant, sometimes of the mark. Greeting the crowd, he wished them “Good night,” which Ted Cruz thought was so hysterical he mocked it at a later rally. But who listens to Ted Cruz? But then there was Dr. Oz, who instead of admiring the courage of his opponent, also mocked him, rolled his eyes in impatience, and was generally a boor. The debate revealed a lot about the rivalry between these two.

Fetterman has spent much of his life working for the people of Pennsylvania. Dr. Oz bought a house in Pennsylvania barely in time to qualify for the residency requirement to run for office—his primary residence is in New Jersey, with a mansion in Florida. The story I like best: Oz had someone build a private basketball court in one of his properties; Fetterman built a community court so underprivileged kids could play basketball. Tell me which is the better man?

Yet, Fetterman got a fair share of criticism, even from his own party where at least one person opined he probably should not have debated. And Republicans were quick to judge that he is not capable of holding such a responsible position as senator. (These same people think Herschel Walker is capable, even though every time he opens his mouth word salad comes out.)

The Fetterman episode, if you want to call it that, made clear the value too many in our country place on ableism. There seems to be one cookie cutter version of who is okay—the man or woman who excels at everything from public speaking to sport and beyond. Anyone who varies from that norm is different, suspect, and probably incapable. Take the way Republicans hastened to claim President Biden is senile. The fact that Biden battles a lifelong stuttering problem, which accounts for his occasionally hesitant speech, elicits not cheers for what he’s able to do despite that handicap but accusations that he belongs in a care facility and Dr. Jill Biden is really running the show. If anyone has ever demonstrated that they are in command of the situation, it’s Joe Biden whose accomplishments in two years of presidency have been nothing short of amazing—from turning the economy around, passing legislation for economic growth and renovation of the infrastructure to delicately aligning allies to support Ukraine in its fight against Russia’s incursion. And he’s done it all despite dig-your-heels-in opposition from conservatives.

I have felt some of this ableism myself. These days I need assistance to walk and hearing aids if I am going to hear what others say. I always have someone with me when I am out, because I do not drive any longer —fighting the walker into the car without losing my balance presented too many chances for disaster. But almost inevitably, salespeople, receptionists, and others talk to the person with me until I want to raise my hand and shout, “There’s an okay brain in here!” I am still writing, still cooking, still very much a functioning member of society.

None of us fit that cookie cutter mold of the prefect person. Fortunately many people fight to recognize and accept the differences in people. Some of us are learning to fold those with differences into our lives and world and make them welcome, to let their light shine as it will. My neighborhood has a special early trick-or treat night—this year on Saturday before Halloween. The evening is a sensory friendly event, a calm and less overwhelming experience for children with different abilities. No loud noises or scary tricks.

In addition, the city ambulance service, MedStar, brings two severely handicapped children and their families for a special night out. Ambulance drivers dress in costume, three streets are blocked off, and everyone goes all out to give these special kids a rare treat.

Somehow I’m thinking of Martin Luther King, Jr., and his dream speech—like him, I dream of a world where all are equal, but my dream deals less with racial themes and more with welcoming the handicapped into our full society, appreciating and utilizing their specific talents and accommodating their differences. We are all different, each in our own way.

There’s a meme going around Facebook in various versions (here’s a more graceful version): In January, John Fetterman will be better; Mehmet Oz will still be a fraud and a huckster.

Thoughts on Juneteenth

Everybody is publishing their thoughts on Juneteenth. Here are mine. 

I may yet master this remote discussion business. I’ve now been to a wedding, a memorial service, and a book discussion through zoom technology, although on various servers. Last night was the church discussion of I’m Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness, by Austin Channing Brown. with probably a hundred people involved.

I did not master the mute/unmute button so was unable to contribute and am not sure I was confident of what I had to say. In response to “When were you first aware of racial differences,” a couple of people cited experiences at six or seven of seeing “No Colored” signs and being first puzzled, then indignant. And one couple, from rural Iowa, said  they’’d never met a black person until college.

My experience growing up on the South Side of Chicago was so different. I always knew there were two communities and as a child was afraid when outings took us through the black neighborhoods. My father never locked the car doors on the strange theory that he had survived WWI and nothing was going to hurt him. But in my neighborhood in the fifties, most of us believed violence and danger came from the black population. I grew up afraid, and it’s been a hard legacy for me to put behind over the years.

For much of her adult life, Brown has worked in non-profit religious organizations in the white world, and when she described the rebuffs she’s received, I realized I can never truly say to her, “I understand,” because I don’t. I have never experienced the condescension and discrimination she has. All socially proper, but damning nonetheless. For instance, she says any time conflict arises in an office, it is tactfully suggested that she “try a little harder,” never that they sort things out in a truly equal manner.

Take-away is a buzz word these days, and I found several take-aways in this intense book. One is the concept of whiteness. I guess I have always thought in terns of white and black, but not whiteness, an attitude that pervades everything aspect of life. In pointing out how deeply rooted whiteness is, Brown makes the point that what many white people want is assimilation, which is wrongly called diversity, and not reconciliation. For most of us, all that we say and do and believe is rooted in whiteness. We tend to accept black community members as long as they look, think, dress, act, and speak like us.

What that overlooks is blackness. African-Americans have their own deeply rooted culture and traditions, an ancestry we fail to appreciate. Brown makes that point almost ironically by inferring that the white community is insular and then saying in a later chapter how comfortable and secure she feels in the black community. She grew up “privileged,” which means she went to predominantly white schools and churches and “discovered” the black community late in her childhood. She describes the joy and freedom she felt the first time she attended a black church with the enthusiastic singing and commenting, the freedom to move about, the abundance of joy. It is indeed a totally different world from, say, mainstream Protestantism, and maybe it speaks for the differences between the two communities. It seems to me that the black community is also insular and what we must find is a way for the two, disparate communities to work together as equals.

I think the separation works two ways, though Brown doesn’t address that. But one respondent last night told of a multiracial group from the church that was going to attend a picnic in the black community—until it turned out the black members did not want them, because they would have to acknowledge the friendship and would then be called “Oreos” (black on the outside, white on the inside) by their neighbors. That story demonstrates that there is a lot of hard work ahead for both communities if we are going to achieve anything beyond token integration and a racially balanced society.

It’s a lot more than, “some of my best friends are ….” or “take a black friend to lunch.” I recommend this book.