#lifieness

The thing is that I look at these social justice warriors and they appear to be another privileged and angry group of white people that feel they know what is best for everyone. They would have themselves out in the world forcing justice on people in the same way their predecessors forced injustice on them. However, the only thing I can’t figure out is who is actually benefiting. This is not a movement like the civil rights movement of the 1960s, where the oppressed and the offended marched together so that they may be recognized. It’s individuals screaming aloud at the irrelevant and using words like appropriation as a lightning rod, like cultures were never meant to be shared. Culture is a legacy, not an entitlement. Blackness was not given to me at birth. It’s been my responsibility to live up to being black and I haven’t done it by copying what my parents and neighbors did or by denying the richness of my ancestors to the friends of mine that didn’t look quite like me. Don’t get me wrong though, my history is not just fashion for anyone. If you want to learn about and express yourself through another culture, by all means, but do not wear me as a costume. Social justice warriors need to learn the difference and excuse themselves for believing they are entitled to speak on our behalves. Perhaps these warriors would be better off changing each other. Minorities don’t need to be saved by others anymore than they needed to be harmed by them. Social justice sounds so egalitarian and warrior so poignant and righteous but it looks remarkably similar to white guilt that somehow became radicalized.

people have the impression that things like happy and sad or creepy and pleasant exist as opposite ends of a spectrum that we constantly move between, getting closer or further to one or the other. however, it's more likely each is most likely its own distict circle. for example a happy person probably doesn't experience true sadness as much a change in their degree of happiness. just the same a creepy person is never pleasant their only ever more or less creepy...

From what I could tell, everyone was here. The businessman that just couldn’t reach was behind me and to either side were the college students. One was a guy whose parents believed in the American dream and the other suffering his own underachievement. Up front, there’s a woman holding on so tightly, that I wonder of what it is she’s not letting go. She gets off with an old black man. I only mention his color because I wonder what my grandfather looked like. My father never knew him and I’ve never seen a picture. He was a soldier, like us, of the Great War. I don’t know if they called it World War II, as it was happening. The single mothers are beautiful. They’re what became of the latchkeys, but we were never alone like her to look after a little sister in a place like this. Grandma is there though or whatever they call her. Today, it’s probably the only words they speak in here language. The others try to be unnoticed, like the man going home dirty, so one day his kids won’t have to. In addition, the wasted youth are present. They are unskilled laborer, just outside of his teens and the man trying to look like he’s not too old still to be in college. He sits across from the kid who believed everything was going to change for him after high school. This might not be his moment yet. Then there’s me. I’m the one in the back that no one notices. I write it all down…

While everyone is hyper focused on presidential candidates, the sad truth is very little of what is happening in the presidential election matters. The president holds far less power than the public appears to believe. In reality, the president of the United States has no authority to ban or allow anyone. Executive power is very limited and no president is capable of doing anything real on their first day in office. Additionally, the importance of Supreme Court appointments is greatly exaggerated. Public policy is determined by legislatures and most of that policy is at the state and local level. Most of the challenges to those laws are heard by lower courts and decided by district court justices, you have probably never heard of. The reality is that the Supreme Court does not hear all the cases that are brought before it. A very high percentage of the cases are sent back to the state courts for various reasons or dismissed for lack of standing or merit. The point is that attacks on women’s reproductive rights, reversal of civil rights, and gender/sexuality discrimination is mostly occurring at the state level. Do not be so caught up in who is at “the top” that you forget that the people lower on the ballot have a greater effect on your daily life. The last laws signed and vetoed by the president were a law that relates to congresses duties for our countries 250th and one that was to set limits on former president’s expense accounts. Neither of those things affect me at all and likely not anyone who has read this. Even the monies that will or would have been appropriated are from taxes we have already paid. End of rant…

I wish I was Black like on TV or in movies. I don’t have a sassy aunt that starts every sentence with “child or honey”. I’ve never even heard her snap. My grandmothers were all really skinny except for one, but even she was no Big Mama or Madea. The things she said weren’t irreverent and delightful. They were just outdated and out of context. My gay cousin is even low key. I think she enjoys being herself even less than I do, and I don’t know what to say about her style. My uncles were never fun. At least not sit-com fun. Everything was simply understood and there were never any mix ups. They’ve never asked me to hide something from my mom, dad or aunt. My stoner cousin never tried to get me high or sold anything of mine for crack. I’m not even sure he was even a stoner. His drug abuse was more sad than funny. Not once in my life have I ever ran from a guy with a gun. I have cousins that are churchfolk and are all about the glory of Jesus, but no one speaks in tongues. Hands are in the air, but they’re not fighting the Holy Ghost. She passed out once but it wasn’t dramatic. I was never even taught to soul clap (but I can (I’m still Black)). I’m not even that Black guy. I think most people expect me to be their Wayans brother, but the truth is I’m more like that Black guys Monica or Ross works with in one episode and besides making everyone uncomfortable and question whether they’re racist, don’t really have anything to do with the overall plot.

On Sunday my pastor made a comment that, most White people in America don't know what it's like to be Black in America. It sank in deep, and I realized that for me, it was a very true statement. I want so desperately to believe that everyone sees people like I see people, as people. I'm always so shocked to hear of racial prejudice in this happy little corner of the world I live in. But it's here. It's everywhere. And I don't know it because I happen to have white skin, so no one ever shows it to me. I hate that racism is alive and well. I hate it. But I have no idea what I can do to stand up to it, to stop it, if I can't even see it.   Interestingly enough is probably that others and I have an exaggerated idea of what it's like to be White. California is altogether different though (especially LA). When I lived there, I would listen to their stories and scoff at them. They worked in a department where everyone was a minority (including their supervisors) and would blame race for anything that didn't meet their individual expectations. They also questioned my "Blackness" for not being empathetic.   The truth is they don't really know the Black experience most refer to. I was the only person of color in my school from second to seventh grade (I don't count fifth and sixth, because the other student was my sister in kindergarten and first). No one born in raised in Los Angeles knows that experience. That is when you know you're different, regardless of your treatment. It’s been my experience that others' efforts to be inclusive are often the most alienating. It’s impossible to go out of your way to make someone feel included without acknowledging they might not be. So instead of being treated the same. I am treated as if it’s "okay I'm Black.” I rarely bring it up because I don't think it translates.   I believe you and your heart wholly and the best you can do is pass that on to your children and encourage them to do the same. My parents lived through the glory days of the civil rights movement. My grandmother worked for the sheriff's department and was taken to work in a police car because Watts was burning. My father used a "coloreds only" water fountain and bathroom. I've told them I thought their experiences precluded them from living in a world without racism or prejudice. Their experiences have created a suspicion that will never be assuaged (the same is true for the racist of that generation).   Stand up for injustice that you witness. Believe the feelings others have are true (without apologizing for it). No one should expect you to make it better or feel guilty for it. Try to understand what you don’t and listen when you can't. Acknowledging you don't get it is fine, while pretending there’s nothing to get is problematic.   Thank you for your perspective and your encouragement. Tonight I watched Zootopia with my son, and it opened up a beautiful opportunity for us to discuss how we should treat people well no matter what they look like. (OMG that movie is fantastic btw) It does make sense how trying to help someone fit in could actually alienate them. I've always grown up in rather White communities. Well, White/Hispanic at least. When I was in high school, I had two friends that were Black. They were two sisters and my sister and I would hang out with them sometimes. I'm not even sure how we met cause I was homeschooled and they went to the public school. I never really thought anything of the fact that they were Black. They were both beautiful and fun and I really got along with them. I do remember one time when one of them told me her experience in the high school. People would avoid her; they would walk across to the other side of the hall to pass her. Things were said under people's breath. When she told me about it I believed her, but I was still surprised. I forget what ever happened to them . . . I think they moved away after a little while. I always wonder if it's because of things people said and did there. I found out years later that there was a Klan component in that town. Makes me sick. My husband had a different childhood. He grew up in LA and went to a school where he was a minority. He never really thought about racism. His three best friends growing up were all different races and ethnicities. He said that the biggest problems with racism where he lived had to do with gangs and usually didn't include Whites or Blacks. It was more Asians vs. Hispanic and such. But anyway, I know that neither of us experienced what it's like to be Black in the south. I think the points you made about your parents are SO poignant. Our parents lived in a time still very tainted with racial hatred and exclusion. That generation is still alive. Sadly, hatred and racism is something that is taught. And it's being taught. And it's being learned. And it's spreading. I wonder how many generations have to die off before racism dies off... or is that just an idealistic dream?   I worried about my kids initially because they were mixed. I remember how that was perceived when I was growing up. However, I found out a majority of his friends were also. In addition, their generation isn't responding to difference the way ours did. They’ve experienced different cultures and sexualities their whole lives.   I have great hope for the future and even feel optimism for the present. I think segregation is a factor in our current situation. Even though it's no longer (legally) forced, people rely on living among their own cultures for both comfort and understanding. The problem with that is segregating/isolating helps to perpetuate stereotypes both outside and within all cultures. I believe that there is a lot of love and acceptance alive in my country but people need to leave their places of comfort to experience it. Cultural education is about the other culture. It always has been. It’s problematic to learn about other cultures from a perspective of how they affect your life.

What the hell is happening here? College is easy, so why am I so tired. I have to work. I miss wife. I should be putting my kids to bed. I’ll go to class tomorrow, or next week, whatever. Something has to change. I’ve gotten to comfortable here. I’m losing the urge to finish. It’s time to move on. None of this is working. Is me or is it her? Something is changing but I don’t know what. I didn’t expect everything to fall apart. I never expected not to care. Everything worth fighting for is dead or dying. The world is a dark place looking at it from here. Good doesn’t triumph over evil. Good is forced to struggle and dared to survive. The greatest tragedy of my life was believing in America. I promised my life to protect everything it stood for but when I needed America to protect me, I was left lost alone. My only intention now is not to exist. I can’t, not be alive, and fighting it has left behind a crater. It isn’t enough just to move forward anymore. I now also must climb. These years have been taxing and left me alone. My heart is so fragile that if I reach forty, I won’t care anymore.