America at its best

America knows how to do occasions of state. Watching the ceremony form the Capital Rotunda today, I was filled with a sense of patriotic pride, something that it is often hard for me to feel these days. Soldiers marched in lockstep, people were quiet, orderly, respectful, music was glorious and moving. In this day of such partisan separation, Republican and Democrat came together to honor a man of greatness, of great courage, and a tireless belief that American could change and grow better..

It shouldn’t be lost on any of us that Congressman John Lewis is the second black person whose body lies in state in the hallowed rotunda (fittingly, Elijah Cummings was first). That in itself is a great step forward for this nation, where people are protesting in the streets because black lives do matter and are being met with force. Some in our nation still speak out against racial equality, against taking another look at our national history. It is an embarrassment to most of us.

When we take that second look, we see that from the Founding Fathers to the present, our history shows a continuous record of racial prejudice. We are today making great strides in overcoming that, overcoming violence against minorities, inequality in opportunities. But there is still a long road ahead of us, and, as we are unfortunately seeing, change does not come easily. It too often brings anger and hostility, division and violence. But this is one of those times when the words of Martin Luther King Jr. ring out: “We shall overcome.”

I can’t speak for John Lewis, but I wonder how he felt about destroying Confederate statues. It seems to me that those statues are nothing more than symbols of a history we’re trying to put behind us. They are static, inactive. Men like Congressman Lewis fought not against statues but for real rights, prime among them the right to live in safety. The Black Lives Matter movement seeks real, tangible change for citizens of color; the destruction of statues is, by contrast, symbolic and does nothing to preserve life, liberty, and equality for those who are still oppressed. Black Lives Matter is what John Lewis called “good trouble.”

I am so in awe of the moms and pops and veterans who have come out to speak for freedom in Portland, to stand against the bullying and brutal tactics of imported goons. John Lewis, at peace at last, would weep for Portland. Some reassurance: I read today that the United Nations has condemned trump’s tactics.

It was hard, watching the pomp and circumstance of this ceremony, to equate it with the protests and riots tearing our country apart. We must reconcile the two Americas—the patriotic and the divided, destructive—if we are to rise again greatness.

Rest in glory, John Lewis. And thank you.

Where are the good guys today?

This was one of those days that it was hard to clear your mind and go about business. For me, the most pleasant moment was happy hour. Five-thirty is Sophie’s  favorite time of the day. When she senses that we are about to go out to the patio, she runs in and out excitedly. If I am slow—getting my sunglasses or phone, for instance—she runs back in and looks at me as if to say, “Well, are you coming or not?” Tonight she seemed to know that neighbor Mary was coming, and she sat expectantly watching the driveway. I thought it made a cute picture.

My sisters and brothers in Sisters in Crime consider it gospel that you should never talk about religion or politics on social media. You might alienate readers, and heaven knows, we all want each possible sale. I’ve been thinking a lot about that today. I rarely if ever talk about religion, certainly never to suggest what someone should or should not believe. I may occasionally allude to the way my faith governs my beliefs and actions, but that’s it. On politics, I am more outspoken, compelled by my conscience to speak out. If you truly believe that the nation—or a particular person—is leading us to disaster and you can express that in calm and reasonable terms, I think you are morally obligated to speak out. Otherwise, we become a nation of sheep.

But the two—politics and religion—collided last night when the White House ordered Lafayette Square in DC cleared of peaceful protestors so that the squatting president could have a photo op in front of St. John’s Church. It was wrong on so many levels, all of which have been thoroughly explored on social media today—the unbelievable violence against peaceful protestors, the arrogance of a man who defies Christian principles holding a Bible (upside down and backwards), the hubris of trespassing on church property—and forcing church personnel to flee for their lives.

Did it gain him any votes? Not from anyone I heard. All I have heard and read today is scornful. Except from trump himself, who apparently tweeted, “Thank you, Mr. President” for clearing “violent” protestors.

Across the country, we are witnessing a terrible irony: some cops are using brutal methods to quell peaceful protests—against police brutality. They are making the people’s argument for them, their actions demonstrating the need for drastic and thorough reform of police departments, their education, government oversight. I haven’t yet heard much call for training in compassion, but surely that too is needed.

But increasingly, we are seeing examples of police reaching out, walking with protestors, kneeling and praying with them. These are the men and women who set the example we need. God bless them. I was proud of Fort Worth last night where an eight o’clock curfew cleared the streets, and the chief of police, among others, took a knee and prayed with protestors. We need more of that and less rhetoric about dominating the battlefield. Trump seems to want a civil war; we need to show him peaceful cooperation.

Does anyone else have the feeling as I do that the trauma in this country is building toward some sort of a climax? I don’t sense that these protests will stop as those after Martin Luther King, Jr.’s assassination did or the riots after the beating of Rodney King. Tonight the marches seem more peaceful, but I think the public won’t soon be distracted. I hope I’m right. But I wish I had a magic lantern that would show me the future. I cannot begin to think how this unrest will end, how the national will ever get back to normal or to a new and better normal. Still, I remain hopeful.

Protests in America

This is who we are

Not a land of violence and hate

I don’t think any of us can tiptoe around the topic of the protests, what they are doing to disrupt America, and what they mean. So here are a few of my scattered thoughts.

This past week has been a dramatic and intense learning lesson for Jacob. Perhaps because he’s scared (he wouldn’t admit that but then, we all are), perhaps because he never imagined anything like this, he wants to talk about it, explore it. Last night, Fort Worth saw a peaceful protest on the Seventh Street bridge into downtown go violent, and police used tear gas for the first time in this city in decades. Christian and Jacob drove down there on the road safely under the bridge, but Jacob later came and showed me pictures they had taken—what I could principally see was clouds of tear gas floating in the air.

Tonight, Jacob and a buddy wanted to go to Old Neighborhood Grill, just down the street, for burgers. They left a few minutes after seven, with our warnings to be home by eight ringing in their ears. But the grill closed at seven, so that people would be sure to get home. These are the stories those kids will tell their grandkids, but what will their interpretation be? They have no precedent in their memory: I on the other hand remember the night Martin Luther King, Jr., was shot and the riots that followed, and the beating of Rodney King and the burning of Watts. My memory is too full of these things, and I am afraid to hope that this time will be different. Yet it seems different to me, the violence longer lasting and more widespread.

We talked about it last night, and when I said I thought the looting went beyond simple acquisitiveness by poor blacks and was an attempt to create social discord by organized groups, Jacob said tentatively, “I agree with Juju.” Perhaps he’ll see that it is a racial issue, one that’s been simmering too long, but it is also a civil issue, a statement on democracy.

The sitting president spoke briefly on TV tonight. If you know me, you know it’s hard for me to listen to him with an open mind and unbiased ear, but I tried. I really did. I agree with the need to restore order and protect individuals and small businesses, with the lip-service he paid to the genuine protestors and the slight sympathy he showed for George Floyd’s family—he got the name wrong and called him Floyd George. Ah, well.

But when he talks about activating military troops, my hackles go up. And when he blames it all an antifa, I can barely keep from shouting. It’s clearly accepted that outside organized groups are causing much of the continuing disruption, but he has no proof that it’s antifa, a generic name for anti-fascists. He announced he was declaring that a terrorist group—but antifa is the name for a general resistance, not an organized group, so good luck with that. And local leaders, with their feet on the ground and not hiding in a bunker, indicate that much of the trouble comes from white supremacists and from several highly organized groups within that movement. We may never know the truth, but my hunch is that there is some antifa action and a whole lot more neo-Nazi, and at the base, now overshadowed, are the peaceful protestors who simply want to march and chant for  equal justice for all—long overdue in this country.

Will this end racism in this country? Probably not, but perhaps, finally, it is the wake-up call we needed. There is a long road ahead, and true equality won’t happen in my lifetime, but perhaps in Jacob’s.

Is this the end of the trump presidency, as many have suggested. I can only hope. But if it is, it’s a terrible price to pay to free us from an incompetent man who would be a dictator, who fosters hate and incites violence, and to whom 100,000 deaths from COVID-19 apparently mean nothing.

America tonight is in shambles—a pandemic, millions out of work, the economy on the brink of faltering, and riots from coast to coast. No, I don’t believe trump’s prediction that we are on the road to greatness. If we are to move ahead, it will be a long and difficult journey. But I believe, with new leadership, we can do it. I am hopeful.

What’s wrong with America?

Don’t get me wrong. I love my country, and I’m proud to be an American. This pandemic has brought out the very best in some Americans—I see it in my neighbors reaching out to each other, I read about random acts of kindness, and hear stories thata reinforce my belief that most of humanity is basically good, kind, and caring.

But it’s hard during an unprecedented crisis to see so many people picketing and protesting because their rights are being infringed upon. They demand their freedom! They want to get a haircut, sit in a restaurant or a bar, go to the theatre, live life as they’ve always known it. They don’t seem to recognize that these are not normal times and all of us have to make some adjustments.

I am in full sympathy with those who call for re-opening businesses, because they cannot survive economically without a paycheck. We have to recognize how many American live paycheck-to-paycheck. But in my mind, staging protests is not the way to accomplish that goal. And as we gradually re-open (too fast for me), workers lose all my sympathy (not that they care) if they do not wear masks and take other safety precautions in this time of plague. It’s called being a good citizen, a good American.

Those who protest that masks infringe on their rights and do so while armed with assault weapons are beyond contempt. I want to say to them, “Get over yourself.” That is the most selfish act I can imagine, because they not only assert their so-called independence and reveal their inner weakness, they endanger the rest of us and put an extra burden on front-line workers. And that's not the kind of America the armed forces we will honor on Memorial day fought and died for.

A colleague posted a memory about WWII when the world, principally England, lived in blackouts. No sliver of light could show as a target for Nazi bombers. America had blackouts too, though fortunately without bombers. I was a very young child in Chicago during the war—let me emphasize very young—but I remember my uncle was a warden, and I used to go with him to be sure people were complying with the blackout and to warn those who weren’t. Today, some selfish souls would claim the blackout infringed on their rights, and whoever warned them would be at risk of being shot. Bring on those bombers!

I just finished reading The Day the World Came to Town, by Jim DeFede. It’s an account of 9/11 in Gander, Newfoundland, when thirty-eight jetliners, carrying thousands of passengers, were marooned there by the shutdown of American air space. The people of Gander put their own lives on hold and willingly shared their homes, their clothes, their linens, their food, and their goodwill with people from all over the world. They loaned their cars, bought toys for the children, cared for the animals who had been on board. They counseled with distraught parents, worried about the children from whom they were separated in what was a scary time for both adults and children. World tension was at a high, but you’d never have known it in Gander and surrounding small towns.

Nobody protested, nobody talked about their rights, nobody scorned the passengers as “foreigners”—one African American woman was probably the only black person on the island, and she drew attention less because of the color of her skin than because she was a tall and commanding figure and her hair touched the small of her back.

Friendships were forged, some to last a lifetime. One woman discovered that the daughter of a host family lived in the same town in the American South as her own daughter. Thousands of miles away, the two daughters got together, and the Newfoundler was able to reassure the American daughter about her parents’ safety.

Among the stranded passengers was an internationally known European fashion designer, Werner Baldessarini. When a Saudi prince offered to send a private jet to rescue him, Baldessarini turned it down. He did not feel he should be given special treatment, and he had made friends among the other passengers. He wrote:

There was no hatred. No anger. No fear in Gander. Only the spirit of community. Here, everyone was equal, everyone was treated the same. Here, the basic humanity of man wasn’t just surviving but thriving.

Those words echoed in my mind long after I finished the book. I wish every American, but especially the minority who are making themselves so prominent, could read them. And then again, I’d say, “Get over yourself. We are all in this together.”

PS: The events at Gander are the basis for the successful Broadway play, Come from Away.

Earth Sunday

My patio during the hailstorm

Earth Sunday started with a bang in my small corner of the world. The last weather report I’d heard said showers would be gone by seven or eight in the morning, so I thought nothing of them. It was neither particularly sunny nor particularly gray—until about ten or so, when I suddenly began to hear distant thunder. Gradually, it got closer—and so did Sophie, who crept up to lie right behind my chair. Then came a heavy, steady rain. And then! A new noise. Took me a minute to realize, it was hail.

North Texas is notable for unpredictable weather, but we don’t get a lot of hail, especially not this late in the spring. Last I can remember was several years ago, in March, when I had a devastating roof leak. This was mostly small hail, maybe dime-size, but there were a few balls that approached quarter or even golf-ball size. They sure seemed to rattle against my south windows. A few minutes can seem like a long time, but it was over fairly quickly. And, praise be, no damage.

By the time we “went” to church, the sky was clear again. University Christian Church is doing such a terrific job with keeping us together as church during social distancing. Today, in recognition of Earth Sunday (Earth Day is Wednesday, April 22), the service was filmed outdoors, except for a few musical parts. Try as I might I couldn’t recognize the spot and will have to drive by the church to find it, but the service began with senior minister Russ Peterman, casually dressed, coming through an arbor with some kind of blooming spring vine all over it. Other segments were filmed in various spots, but the sense of God’s nature was strong.

Russ Peterman preaching, outdoors, without notes

Pretty impressive

Fittingly, the sermon was on the global reaction to the health crisis. Pointing out that the Chinese symbol for pandemic or health crisis has two symbols—one for disaster and one for opportunity—Dr. Peterman suggested that this is a time of deep awakening. Because social distancing, staying at home, with fewer factories operating, fewer cars on our roads and planes in our skies, has resulted in such dramatic dropping of dangerous gasses in the environment and in cleaner air and rivers, he suggested that we can either go back to what was normal—or we can move forward to a new and much better normal. It is up to us.

In a nostalgic note, I have to add that I loved the music. Various stanzas of “For the Beauty of the Earth” were interspersed, with different soloists, throughout the service. It is one of the old hymns from my childhood, and I can almost sing all verses without a hymnal. This morning, I hummed along with the music…and loved it.

We haven’t been doing much take-out for our meals. I guess it’s partly economical, partly li8king our own cooking, and partly leery of contact with the outside world. But last night we ordered from Enchiladas Olé which has recently opened a second location in our neighborhood. May be the best chicken enchiladas with sour cream sauce that I’ve ever had. Good guac, spicy beans, rice with each serving—and such generous portions. We’ll do that again.

So here we go—another week of quarantine. I’m craving, of all things, oysters Rockefeller—credit that to an article I read about oysters—and I’m missing good friends. One wrote me this evening that she is ready for shared glasses of wine, and I certainly am too. But I have work to do, and I’m content. Like many Americans, I am afraid that the president and some governors will open the world too quickly, and we’ll see great spikes in cases. I am also appalled at the protests, except that I have known we have ignorant protestors who are always looking for a cause and have now found a new one. A meme today said they are protesting because of “Muh freedums.” So apt. It both amuses and horrifies me that they feel it appropriate to carry rifles during their protests. Their ignorance and thoughtlessness is appalling, especially when you read about the severity of some cases of covid-19 and the desperate and lonely deaths of many victims. I hope common sense prevails. I know I for one am staying quarantined and am most grateful to be able to do that. I hope you can too.

Random thoughts on a day stolen by the dentist….

The airwaves and the internet have us all holding our collective breath until the last man is rescued from the cave in Thailand. And yet, some have asked, “If we have that much concern about a soccer team trapped in a cave, why don’t we care equally about 3,000 (or however many—the number keeps changing from anywhere between 3,000 and 10,000) children in cages? I think it’s the wrong question.

The American people made it plain loud and clear that we care desperately about the caged children. World leaders have joined the outcry. But those boys in the cave are in a life-or-death situation, one with a terrible immediacy about it. At any hour, monsoons could wipe out their escape route, dooming them. The escape itself is full of dangers, even with skilled divers to guide them. Their window of opportunity is short. Pray God they all escape safely and can go on with their soccer game and their lives.

The caged children, on the other hand, face long term consequences from their forced separation from their parents. Even when and if—and for someit’s a big “if”—they are reunited. Some may come out unscathed, but most will suffer the results of this cruel treatment the rest of their lives. They will require our continued support, and as Americans, the country that imprisoned them, I think we will owe them that.

But I also think as Americans we’re capable of both kinds of compassion. Worrying about one group doesn’t cancel our worry about another. We are Americans. Our compassion is not a finite pie with a certain number of pre-cut pieces—it is infinite, unlimited. It expands as needed. As crisis after crisis arises, I am struck by how many good people there are in this country. In fact, in moments of hope, I think this current debacle may ultimately cause us to right wrongs that belong not just to this administration but to generations before.

A specific incident concerning the separated families sticks in my mind. By now you’ve probably seen the video clip—it’s gone viral—of the well-dressed woman, self-identified as a concerned grandmother, who went to a detention center, as part of a demonstration, her arms filled with toys and stuffed animals to comfort the children being held. Not only was she turned away, her gifts confiscated, she was taken away in handcuffs for refusing to step back a few feet. As far as I could tell, she did not resist the officers, she was not angry, dangerous, any of the things you might expect. She was compliant, even submissive, so what was her crime? Is that the point we’ve reached, where people are arrested for caring, for trying to be kind?

And that leads me to another question: how do the police officers who cuffed this woman feel about their duty? How about the ICE deportation officers? Are we back to the My Lai defense of “I was only following orders”? Who is giving those orders? I know God’s eye is on the sparrow, but Mr. Trump’s eye is far too busy with a golf ball to have time to reach so far down in the ranks as to command the arrest of a grandmother bringing toys to hostage children. Is it Jeff Sessions? I doubt he has the time either. How far down the chain of command does this infestation (I used Mr. Trump’s word deliberately) extend?

As for the dentist, yeah, the day was shot. Ten o’clock appointment, so I didn’t get anything done before because I was getting ready physically and emotionally. Two and a half stressful hours later, I walked out of the office, had lunch with a kind friend, came home and slept for another two and a half hours. It really did take up the whole day. Dental phobia dating back to my 1940s childhood when the drill was slow and bumbling. So glad this day is behind me.

And so it begins…

Jacob and his overnight guests cleaning up after some girls teepee-ed the house. It’s a n innocent, if annoying, prank that kids have been doing for years. Jordan and the boys intended to retaliate last night but all fell asleep, and we all slept with lights ablaze all night.

Some not so innocent pranks are going on. I hear rumors of Trump followers attacking minorities, and Trump opponents protesting, though peacefully as far as I know. Facebook has poignant posts from people who have been unfriended by longtime friends and are hurt, angry, puzzled. All over politics. At this time, when the nation needs to come together in unity, the division is getting more sharp.

I had my own minor experience. A friend I’d known and shared confidences with,  encouraged her publication hopes, cheered for her over the last few years, sent me an email saying her opinion was good enough to elect a president, and I needed to stop thinking that my opinion was the only one that matters. Their sanctimonious attitude defeated the Democrats, and I needed to get off my high horse. I was stunned, and naïve as I am, thought she’d been hacked. Not so. Politics, she said, has nothing to do with friendship.

I’m not so sure about that, not sure I separate the threads of my friendships so easily. And I am saddened that someone has that opinion of me. Beyond that, there were several ways I could have responded, the most obvious being to retort with comments about Trump and rudeness and compassion.

I didn’t. Because I believe that message is exactly the kind of thinking we need to eradicate, the pitting of one side against the other. I wrote instead that I was stunned, sorry, apologetic. It was my step into my new world of love, forgiveness and unity. I truly believe in these troubled, contentious times the only hope for America is for us all to come together as Americans—not Trump followers, not Trump protestors, not black, white, gay, straight, Muslim, whatever—just Americans. And work together to build unity in our country.

Begin with that safety pin that says you welcome and will protect people of whatever persuasion. But don’t attack those who differ with you, and don’t bemoan the incoming president’s election. It is what it is—now what can you do to make it better?

I almost didn’t post this story. My friend will read it and she will be angry and I’m sorry. But I truly believe the larger message is more important.

Let us put differences aside and remember that we are all Americans, with a glorious heritage and, if we will work for it, a bright future.