Black Lives Matter, Black Leaders Matter, Black Leadership Spaces Matter

June 17, 2015:  There was an Assassination and Massacre of Nine  Black Political, Citizen, and Community leaders in Charleston, SC at  church, “Mother Emanuel”,  during Bible Study by a Hate Filled Young White Man.  Rev. Pinckney,  State Senator, Pastor and Eloquent Community leader, along with 8 of his associates were murdered by this hate filled young man who came to the church asking for  the pastor by name.  The Bible study members welcomed the young man.  The young man responded with death.

This is the church of Denmark Vesey, a church that has been destroyed and rebuilt throughout its nearly 200 year old history and has returned to lead with love.  It is the firm but gentle leader Fox News often claims they want but can not find.  To the Church and to Charleston – Let me echo the words of a UCC pastor:  … “You whose shepherd has been taken from you, whose building has become a tomb, whose children are terrified: We stand with you. We weep with you. We rage for you. We keep vigil with you for your beloved dead.”  Black lives matter.  Black leaders matter.  Black leadership spaces matter.

Throwback Thursday- Life in a Car Factory with a Muscle Disability

I worked in a car factory from 27 to 32 years of age . It was a stamping plant- meaning we took sheet metal,  cut it into parts and then finished the part, (sub-assembly) so it was ready for assembly at the next factory. I was in the first group of women (late 70’s) to work there so I got a ” good job for the ladies.” The job was to  1. fill a box with bolts- 2. carry it to my station where an entire car floor (the floorpan) would appear (somewhat like a vertical toaster popping up the toast) – 3.  put my hands deep into the machinery – 4.  lay some bolts at various points on the floorpan-  5. turn and pick up a rocker ( long strips of metal)- 6. drop rocker over bolts- 7. repeat until bolts are all covered – 8. reach up with both hands -9. push 2 buttons to lower this huge assembly onto the floorpan and 10. accept smoke in face and throughout space as the machinery created welds at each place where the bolts and rockers were. Then the line moved and we repeated- on my feet- 8 to 12 hours a day, five to seven days a week. Well, although this was one of the “easiest jobs” in the factory I knew the job would kill me so I looked around.

The most macho job in the plant was final packing of the completed doors.  The job in the union contract was written for 4 “men” to pack the fully created doors. As the doors  came around a final bend in this sub-assembly line,  There were 2 rail tracks with open rail cars designed specifically to hold the doors. The wide part of the door fit into the first slot on the left and the second slot accepted the wide part of the door on the right.  There were, I think 40-50 doors per car.   The doors rode over the rail cars and the “men” pulled the doors into the rail car but the union contract had them standing alongside the cars-so each man packed one of every four doors and the two men standing on the right of their rail car had to turn the door upside down to fit. This is boring job and hard on the back so someone realized that if one person got into the railcar- they could pack a car alone.  Therefore, by working alone, but rotating the job among the 4,  they only had to work one hour of every 4 hours.  So the thinking was you had to be strong and coordinated because you had to be able to climb out of one car into the next while moving the rail car ahead but not letting any doors pass you and drop off the end of the line to their ruin.

As counter-intuitive as it might have seemed to others. and as ugly as the men got toward me,  I knew this would be the only job I would be able to do. And the men did get ugly- there was a final control of the rail cars to push them out to rail traffic and they would use it to jiggle or move the rail car ahead so I would bump into the line.  My toes, which had  many doors dropped on them for that reason, have never recovered.  In fact, I could have literally lost my head if I had gone under the line.

I did not have a diagnosis at that time but my intuition  was correct.  Years later, I learned I have a rare genetic muscle disorder, McArdle’s Disease or GSD Type 5 where I can not use the glycogen in my muscles.  This means that I am not able to do the anaerobic work  others take for granted.  The lifting, squatting, standing of the first job really was harder for me than the macho -twirl the door in the air and hop into the next rail car -job because I was able to use my aerobic pathways to do that work- then I got a nice break before  another go round,  and then  punch out time.  It was definitely hard and it took quite a while till I did the job as easily as the men ( ok, i never got there) but I got stronger and I did it. Only one other female joined me on that job.  She did not have as tough a time with the co-workers because her father was a foreman in the plant and she was an accomplished athlete- incredibly strong from riding competition and baling hay and mucking stalls for her horses.

This taught me the lesson that

NOT EVERY ONE CAN DO EVERY THING NO MATTER HOW HARD THEY TRY BUT IF YOU PAY ATTENTION YOU MAY FIND A WAY THROUGH THAT FITS YOU.

This was a hard job.  Cars were steel not plastic as they are now.  They were  made by human sweat not robots. This was a dangerous job. I recently updated my OSHA safety certificate.  My instructor was horrified by  all the jobs I told him about in that plant.  But, this was a job that paid 2 1/2 times my previous job with some control, some autonomy, and lots of overtime perks, because of a strong union contract.  There is less stress in your life even in a stress filled workplace when you know what you are doing, you know it is important to the economy, and you are paid a  decent salary. Yeah, those were the days.

Good Times/Quaint Times

I came of age in the seventies. I know the  “Good Times’ life: the ironic – temporary layoffs, Good Times, ez credit ripoffs,  and the optimistic- 3,4,5, Good Times, leave your cares behind.  Contradictions: Giddy in the club, singing “there’s no stopping us now”,  while I knew the drama at the tractor factory.  There, the first women hires  were celebrated- a party, a banner, and a newspaper feature.  9 months later, they were laid off,  forever.   I understand that life is hard, victories may be  brief, and  the future is not guaranteed.  That is in my nature and my nurture.

Yet, that is not enough to explain today; today is different.

Last week, I watched Trevor Noah’s comedy special.  He wondered about the term African American.  He did not seem to know about Fifties USA,  a world of Italian Americans, Irish Americans, Polish Americans, Jewish Americans,  Mexican Americans, Native Americans, Puerto Rican Americans, Lithuanian Americans, Japanese Americans… The sixties arrived with our first ethnic, Catholic president (John Kennedy). We, ethnics,  were on the rise and we had power in the Democratic party.  We had good paying  jobs that were important to building the country and the economy.  We were out of the tenements and into homes with lawns.  African Americans fit into this stew, in a way that Afro Americans or Black Americans did not.  It is hard to imagine today as most ethnics  have melted into white America, Hispanic America, or Asian America; jobs, industries  and even homes have been lost; and only the very rich have power.

It is different and it is difficult to even know where or how to begin to make sense of this world.

Forty years ago, I heard a story about the Chinese Revolution. Before the revolution,  many poor people, would cross the street if a rich person was near or if a rich residence loomed so that their  “bad luck” would not rub off and bring bad luck to the rich.  Yes, it was a propaganda story and yes,  it made me feel lucky to be an American.  Forty years ago, Americans were largely free from this kind of superstition and self- hate.  I believed this part of our democratic, debate loving, anti-elitist  American character/culture was immutable. We might be “scratchin’ and survivin'” but we were also “hanging in and jivin'”. We were proud citizens. It was inconceivable to me that that a culture that idolizes the rich and favors the privileged would grow to dominant.  It was inconceivable that so many ordinary Americans can  rationalize their losses  in this new world with self-loathing  and shame.  History forgotten. It is a different world and it is difficult to know where or how to begin.

Grace Lee Boggs on Moyers

Much more optimistic than me but very inspiring

Disaster and Choice

Fall storms here look a bit like a Chinese Lion Dance. The trees bow their shaggy, and colorful leaf manes to the ground and rise and twist and shake, and then pull up straight, tall, proud, confident. The wind roars and whips as the rains fall; the trees flex and ride.

October 2011, we had a different kind of fall storm. Snow fell heavy and hard on trees filled with green leaves. The trees groaned under the weight as they tried to flex and move to survive, but their centuries old response was no match for the new challenge of early snow, snow before the leaves had changed color and dropped. It was a terrifying battle. The trees’ howls and whines turned to rips, cracks and crashes and the next morning found us without electricity in a snow covered landscape of felled and broken trees. We were two and a half weeks without electricity in the center of a suburban town. My mother, my cat and I were lucky enough to stay with her brother; my 83 year old father stayed in the town’s emergency shelter. It was sad and heartbreaking all around.

Afterward, there was a bit of finger pointing at the politicians and the electric company but three years later, not much has changed. I fear another early snow or a serious hurricane, like we had the next October, Hurricane Sandy. There are problems in our infrastructure and delivery systems. There are big problems in our response to disaster. I knew this.

The morning of September 11, 2001, I was a Section 8 inspector in a new city. I drove out to inspect a home that was one of several, identical, small brick houses on a dead end street. As I turned into the street, it appeared everyone who lived on the street was outside waiting for me. They told me we were under attack. I did not know. We decided to go into the home, which I was to inspect, and watch the news together. There may or may not be atheists in foxholes; but there are few people who turn from the government when there is a disaster. The tenants were scared but calm and ready for action.

The Housing Authority gave no leadership or support through me or the main office. Neither was I directed to gather information that may have been needed for an evacuation. For example, there was only one working car on this block at the time, but there were several disabled people that would have needed help. My orders, when they finally came, were to return the car to the company parking lot and go home. Downtown was being evacuated in fear that the Bank of America building might be the next target. Command: Leave the tenants; drive to the possible target.

Would there be a different reaction today? Would there be leadership that is respectful of the citizenry? Of workers? Would there be leadership directed to solutions? Unlikely. A recent investigation by ProPublica found “ the Red Cross’ efforts to provide food, shelter and supplies after the 2012 storms, ( Hurricane Sandy) … was repeatedly undercut by its leadership. Top Red Cross officials were concerned only about the appearance of aid, not actually delivering it,” Many leaders today are posers or uninterested.

Our responses are inadequate for our battles but unlike trees, we could adjust. Grace Lee Boggs said, “It is time to embrace the idea that we are the leaders we’ve been looking for.” There are answers out there and there are worthy people. If we respect the patience of the populace in crisis, If we remember the bravery and the hard work of the first responders, the second responders and the clean up crews, Then discuss, complain, Demand solutions. This is a real choice. There will be more disasters.

References: http://www.propublica.org/article/the-red-cross-secret-disaster;

Choice and freedom

The back roads to my hair stylist wind around and through a Nature Preserve. I am not late so I am appreciating the views. Directly ahead, barely a yard above the road, a hawk is flapping valiantly trying to ascend with his prey. The prey, a large gray squirrel pitches wildly back and forth trying to break free. With a final, full body twist the squirrel escapes the talons and drops onto the road. I brake and stop. The squirrel exits right to the underbrush; the hawk flies off to the left; and I proceed to my appointment straight ahead.

Well, it has been over a month since I posted: a busy time; an important month of 9/11 anniversaries, The People’s Climate March, a new Middle East war.,.. But, my mind has been stuck on a Facebook posting.

“Everything is based on the choices you make. It’s not your parents, your past relationships, your job, the economy, the weather, an argument or your age that is to blame. You and only you are responsible for every decision and every choice you make . Period.” The poster can not understand why it makes me cranky. It is a clearly true, she replies.

Today, luckily, hawk and squirrel have clarified my objections. “You and only you are responsible for every decision and every choice you make.” That is true. But no, “everything is not based on the choices you make.” In fact, very little is based on the choices you make. Everything begets everything-your parents, your genes, your relationships, your job, the economy, the weather, the geography, the time period that you live, your choices, and lady luck. Squirrel fought back hard. I have seen hawks pick up small animals; I have never previously seen one fight like this squirrel. Today, the choice to fight resulted in freedom for the squirrel but it could have easily resulted in hawk and/or squirrel as roadkill. I was driving slowly watching the fight. I was alone and there was no one else on the road so I could brake without affecting other humans. I feared the bad karma from hitting the brave warrior rodent. I love raptors so I would not punish the villain of this drama with death, if avoidable. Choice was only part of the happy ending for the squirrel.

This is life as I know it. It is liberating to know that we can always act from within our own values and heart despite what life throws at us. It is liberating because life is not fair and we have little control- freedom or roadkill.

Just saying No to The Bridge

Sometimes, when I watch TV that is gory, violent, mean or scary- I have nightmares.

The nightmares can continue for days. I try to avoid those shows.

Very occasionally, I wonder/worry about a TV character or a TV plot- perhaps I’ll read a recap or critique to explore underlying themes or meaning. ( I really miss TWOP.) I appreciate those shows.

Wednesday night after watching The Bridge, I felt something new- like I stepped into a flaming bag of pooh on my front porch; I felt dirty, disgusted, disrespected and lame.

I invested two summers on this series set on the US Mexico border. There are good actors playing believable characters. The filming and direction are interesting, and hint of a setup to a deeper story. There are possible big picture stories of missing women, exploitation, poverty, drug trafficking, international non-cooperation, police corruption, and little personal stories of greed, divorce and disability to tell. But, so far, plots are cliched and unfold unrelated to the characters personality or history. Two seasons, both are of a hunt for a psychopathic killer.

Season One ended with Annabeth Gish’s multilayered character, Charlotte poised to become a major villain, but instead, in Season 2 Charlotte reverts to her earlier, unsure self and a new, one dimensional villain drives the story. What seemed positive – the employ of underutilized female actors becomes  it’s opposite: stereotypes.  In fact, every incident in this last episode seemed gratuitous- the kidnapping, the rescue , the betrayal, the slaughter, and the escape.  The violence was unnecessary and excessive.

For the promise of a show, I watched a show I dislike. I like TV- I wish I could find something to watch. In the meantime,  I’ll just say No.

Another Labor Day

Another Labor Day,

Another year without a job;

This is a future I never imagined.

I imagined Work- hard work, maybe, until I died…

A genteel poverty of the aging adjunct or the single human services professional, perhaps,

but not unemployment, early retirement, and small fixed income (for decades?).

How did I get here? Well, I tried not to be here.

I followed conventional wisdom- That is:

• I became flexible and open to change.
• I retrained from low paid clerk to high paid factory worker and again to college graduate.
• I moved for available jobs.
• I found a niche- in my case- old fashioned social work: advocacy, education, service, and empowerment.
• I stayed up to date in my field.

I did not foresee the depth of public budgets cuts and medical reorganizations that would make my experience and my point of view irrelevant as those jobs disappeared, irrelevant despite retraining, working and continuing education.

Another Labor Day,

Another unnecessary worker death, a young woman working 4 jobs to make ends meet.  (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/08/28/maria-fernandes_n_5732230.html?cps=gravity)

30 years ago,   I considered moving to Hawaii for friendship,  but my friends were working 2,3 and 4 jobs to afford rent.  I did not foresee that would be the way of life for the whole mainland a few decades later.  Wisely, I thought, I returned to my factory job and wisely. I thought, I quit the factory job to retrain months before the plant was shuttered, back on Another Labor Day,

 

 

+Can’t love but can honor

I was not prepared for my father’s passing, November 23, 2013.  I expected him to outlive us all.  He died after a stroke and brief hospitalization.

There was no real reason for surprise- he was 85 years old with a history of cardiovascular problems and a nasty attitude toward doctors’ orders.  He certainly did not have a zest for life. He had hearing loss that was fairly easily remedied with hearing aids but he refused. He withdrew,  right as joy was near.  His granddaughter was successfully making a living as a singer/songwriter/musician and his great granddaughter was saying her first words.  But that was why his death surprised me; he was just too ornery and self-centered to die.  Dad  was the last of the first generation born in the US., his last two first cousins proceeded him in death, by months.  For better and for worse, that energy is gone and will not rise again.

Feeling strangely adrift, I realized I too had shrunk my life as I aged.  My only goal in recent years had been to outlive him.  What did that say about me? and where to go now? We marked his passing and honored his life with a memorial and brunch buffet at a local hotel (He wanted a party and his idea of a party was eating and schmoozing.)  He was not a good or even decent father and not much of a mate,  but his grandchildren and friends felt a loss.  He had been a loyal brother-He and brother Joe, (gone a decade), fought and debated local and national issues.  They delighted in thwarting town budgets and angering town officials.

The Bible does not admonish us to love our parents but to honor them.  I do acknowledge him and hopefully,  my life ahead,  will bring family honor.

My final toast that day was a plagiarized Irish blessing-

Dad- May every remaining hair on your head turn into a candle to light your way to heaven

May you find our dog, Ringo,waiting at the gate and may God take the harm of the years away from you.

May we remember the laughter, the causes, the camaraderie, and the art.

May the peace and joy of those assembled today outline the lives of those he loved and left and

May we all come to such a peaceful end.

We closed with celebrating his uniqueness by joining Frank Sinatra singing I Did It My Way!    And so it was.

TV- A Toast to Ding Dong School

Despite my frequent disappointments, I like TV.  Ma remembers me as an infant, barely able to stand,  inches from the TV screen listening intensely  as Miss Frances spoke directly to me.  (She, apparently, was the originator of that technique.) I don’t remember that nor writing on that TV screen in crayon trying to follow her directions and communicate back with her.  I do remember loving her and the show. I know real school was never as fun or as warm. Her show ran from 1952 to 1956, coincidentally when I began nursery school.  She was replaced by THE PRICE IS RIGHT.

So,  I wondered why she was not honored, well-known or at least acknowledged as a pioneer?  My limited research indicates that she fought with the networks about the commercialization of children’s television and lost while making a few mistakes re: commercials herself. These issues of corporate control and the commercialization of everyday life have been boiling and simmering for- well that’s 60 years.  A real role model,  she stayed in the field, unsung, until her death in 2001.