Listening: The Forgotten Virtue of Citizenship

Borrowed from my friend Alex Peterson, a fellow delegate to the Libertarian Party's National Convention in Orlando this weekend.

As good citizens, there comes times that we must listen to our neighbors and act to maintain peace.  In today's discussions that is often a forgotten virtue, and has led to a regrettable situation where two sides are facing off with both believing that the other is exhibiting signs of racism.  Although one person does not speak for a movement, when the leaders of the movement do not call out ideals spoken under their banner that do not match the movement's ideals it is assumed they support them.  This has become a serious issue between the people stating “All lives matter” and “Black lives matter.”In researching this issue, we did find some very valid points about life experiences in our county that really should be fully heard by all.  

For example, we found that the idea of impending victimization to be a serious issue for a wide swath of people when they see anything pertaining to slavery.  This is especially true near government buildings.  We did also find reports of people being stopped an seemingly impossible number of times by the police.  These situations merit further action without question. 

Our American Dream is one of equality and personal prosperity. While the arguments of preserving history have merit, the facts are we can accomplish the same thing by moving those items to museums without having to expose people to that kind of negativity.  

We can also use the present hardware used by police to create systems of civilian tracking that would allow us to identify such abuse of power and hopefully end it before someone gets hurt or killed.  We would ask that the people under the “All lives matter” banner to listen to some of the speeches given at BLM rallies while imagining if your parents and now you had experienced some of those events.  

We would then ask that we respectfully put that part of our past behind us and work together with our neighbors to create a better functioning country for all.That being said, there are also some points that people are making underneath the “All lives matter” banner that have logical merit.  When one searches the internet, we find that there are quotes from media and videos on what are represented as being BLM leaders stating that all white people are inferior and racist.  There has also been enough violence especially considering the children that are dying from it.   

We would ask that the grassroots portion of the “Black lives matter” movement reach out to the charity's leadership and ask why no statement has been made clearing these matters up.  Because of those statements people are really saying “All lives matter” thinking they are educating the person in front of them about racism instead of hearing a cry for help.  It would also be important to ask where the billions of dollars the charity is getting is going.  It would be fair to say that the money was given with the ideal of helping your community; however, it does not seem to be doing so at this time.  If the charity will not come clean on these issues, it is our recommendation the grassroots portion of “Black lives matter” fight for their slogan and money back to use it for actual good.If both sides will step back and look at the merits of the other's points, we would find that because all lives matter we should be removing idols of slavery and putting them away.  We would also find that anyone speaking in a racist manner should be called out for it and better educated. By doing so, both sides should be able to easily work hand in hand towards the common goal.

In clarification of Presidential Candidate Jo Jorgensen's tweet using #blacklivesmatter and therefore being attacked for being a Marxist, I wrote this on the SCLP.org blog. Thanks, Alex, for taking the conversation further by suggesting we LISTEN to one another.

Who’s in?

This is an open invitation to anyone who wants to write a blog on the topic of Love & Politics to contribute to this space. It’s safe here, I promise. You are welcome here. You don’t have to agree with me or anyone else. Just tell us a story. Make a case. Make an effort.

Leave a comment if you’d like to contribute or reach out to me kasie@clemsonroad.com and let's talk.

Tears Streaming and Chest High

From my friend Robert Burgess on Facebook:

I’d like to wake up just one morning and not relive black trauma at every moment.

It would be to nice roll over and kiss my beautiful wife, hug my exceptional children and have black grief ignore me for just one day.

But that is not today. Probably won’t be tomorrow. Or anytime soon.

Reality is waking up in a thick cloud of frustration, anxiety, fear and anger.

Reality is operating in that volcanic space at work, in conversations and alone as if things are normal but truthfully there is an F5 tornado swirling around my mind.

Reality is layering those feelings with a pandemic, an economic crisis and a white supremacist President.

The weight is enough to break any aware, lucid human, black or not.

Yet...inequality in Black spaces has evolved our ability to persevere despite the traumatic obstacles. Like ocean fins to feet, it came out of the need to survive and lives on.

The indelible resilience of the black spirit.

That despite the forces arrayed against us, we still kiss the ones we love, work hard for our families and tell grief that we will not be moved and if we DO move, we will march in solidarity, vote like our lives depend on it, advocate for our community and take the action that can no longer wait.

Tears streaming and chest high.

I still wake up with black trauma swirling in the air but I am filled with hope. This hope says I will fight until our laws, our education system, our healthcare system, the environment, the carceral system and economic outlook prove Black Lives Matter.

That in itself feels like a miracle.

Thank you, Robert, for allowing me to share this here and for sharing your voice, your vulnerability, and your love with me. Love and Politics on Clemson Road welcomes your voice.

Who’s in?

This is an open invitation to anyone who wants to write a blog on the topic of Love & Politics to contribute to this space. It’s safe here, I promise. You are welcome here. You don’t have to agree with me or anyone else. Just tell us a story. Make a case. Make an effort.

Leave a comment if you’d like to contribute or reach out to me kasie@clemsonroad.com and let's talk.

Love & Politics on Clemson Road

On January 21, 2017, I attended the Women’s March in Washington D.C. I carried a sign that said, “Because Love” on one side and “Because Hope” on the other.

 

I was there to heal. To understand what the fuck had just happened in the 2016 election when our broken system failed. It failed to deliver a slate of candidates who were (1) qualified, (2) inspiring, and (3) worthy of the great honor of being President.

I’m a Libertarian and I voted for Gary Johnson. Leading up to the election all I heard was that my vote would help elect Trump. Or Clinton. Not sure how that works that one vote for Gary Johnson counted three times: Against Clinton, Against Trump, and FOR the candidate I actually wanted.

But if I’m honest, even Johnson wasn’t the leader I was looking for.

So at the Women’s March I stood shoulder to shoulder with women who were worried about their reproductive rights, about the future of our country, and the lack of decency in politics and in the White House.

In the four years since then we have been on a wild ride. One that has further polarized and isolated us from each other and from what we think our government can and should do for us.

During the pandemic I was horrified at our country’s willing surrender of pretty much every civil right we have. Like supplicants, we looked to our government and begged it to save us. And if that wasn’t bad enough, our government failed. Like big time.

So what now? Where do we go from here?

That’s what this blog will attempt to reason out. Let’s think it through. Let’s talk it out. There are no easy answers and that’s okay. I don’t need easy and you shouldn’t want easy. Easy got us here: sadness, grief, anger, and frustration.

"Easy" – the idea that our politicians could and would fix it, that we “deserve” better, that we don’t have to do the work because they will – “Easy” got us where we are. And this place is at best unsustainable and at worst, a total failure of a citizenry to care for one another.

Something’s got to give.

Let us bring the LOVE. Bring the HOPE. Bring compassion, bring optimism, bring a willingness to roll up your sleeves and do the work. Bring your words and let’s work on this together.

Who’s in?

This is an open invitation to anyone who wants to write a blog on the topic of Love & Politics to contribute to this space. It’s safe here, I promise. You are welcome here. You don’t have to agree with me or anyone else. Just tell us a story. Make a case. Make an effort.

Leave a comment if you’d like to contribute or reach out to me kasie@clemsonroad.com and let's talk.

Love Builds Confidence

Going into the archives for some classic blogs to get this blog resurrected. It's no longer The 41st Year and Life on Clemson Road is, as always, an incredible Journey.

From May 2016:

For Mother’s Day, Hollie gave me a picture card she’d drawn in school. It said: 

Mom,
You like to read and write with me, write and read, write and read, write and read. You work every day, work, work, work, work. You watch movies and shows with me, watch, watch, watch, watch, watch, watch. You eat lunch with me on Saturday, eat, eat, eat. I love u!

Beneath it was a picture of two equally-sized people wearing orange, holding books, and standing near a restaurant booth. On the table was a hot dog (hers) and a glass of wine (mine).

My first thought was, “Way to hit that word count, girl!”

My second was, “Hollie really knows me.”

I’ve not been hiding myself from her. She knows I love to read and write. She knows I love to watch movies and Animaniacs. She knows Saturdays are our date days and that during lunch she can have sweet tea and I’ll be drinking wine.

I am who I am.

Being myself with Hollie is how I’m showing her that it’s okay for her to be herself, too.

Choose love, people, for everyone's sake, choose LOVE

My heart has been breaking in my Facebook news feed today.

So many of my “friends” are speaking out against accepting Syrian refugees. They say the refugees threaten our national security. They say we don’t have the resources to sustain them. They say they can’t be trusted. They say our leaders who show compassion are weak.

Then they say we should consider letting in the Syrians if they are Christian.

And my heart hurts.

Where is the love?

Just when I think hatred has been stirred by the fear and that the fear mongers and the haters are winning, I see this beautiful tribute from one victim’s husband and I’m crying.

LOVE.

I remember the families from the Charleston shootings offering forgiveness and LOVE.

LOVE.

Only love is strong enough to combat the hatred ISIS is perpetuating. Not the military, not closing our borders. It’s the worst kind of isolationism to send our troops to kill them and close our doors to their victims.

What the hell is wrong with our world?

Why aren’t we speaking more LOVE?

Only LOVE can save us. Prayer cannot, not when the people praying are also refusing to help. War cannot when the soldiers we send are flushing more victims into the world with nowhere to go. Politics cannot when the criminals are running a help desk and our politicians are tweeting fear and hate.

I tell Hollie constantly, “Speak with love. Act with love. Find the love and let it determine how you respond.”

People are angry. They are afraid. They are being told what we don’t have. But what we do have is love. Find it. Feel it. Give it. It is the one resource which never runs out and is violently contagious. It is the one action we have that is proof of a higher being: the source of love.

An Overdue Thanks to Someone Whose Love I Earned

I’ve been fortunate enough in my life to earn my family. 

There are some who’d tell you family is born of you — kin, they call it — trees and blood and heritage and all that shit.

I have that.

I have the people I’m stuck with, the ones who annoy and degrade me, who take me for granted and disrespect me. I have those. I also have people I’m profoundly grateful to be related to. The ones I know I’m lucky to call my own.

My family, though, is different. 

I consider my family to be those people I’ve chosen for my inner circle. They’re the ones whose claim has little to do with blood, something to do with longevity, and everything to do with faith.

My family is made up of people who took a chance on loving me and received my love in return. They gave me their loyalty and I gave them mine in return. They stand by me, proud to know me, and I stand by them, proud to know them.

I learned a long time ago that you can choose your family. 

You may not be able to choose your kin. Them sonsofbitches might just follow you around and try to drag you into their swamp. But your family, they’re something special.

One of the earliest members of my family is my brother Josh. We met as friends in eighth grade and remained as such through school. When I went to college at Clemson, he’d moved to Atlanta to live with his mom and step-dad Randy. So every weekend, he was in Clemson and we were partying and telling people we were brother and sister.

Randy and Patty (Josh’s mom) had been high school sweet hearts who reconnected after they’d each had marriages and kids and divorces. Their marriage was something we thought was equal parts tragic (“Why didn’t they stay together in the first place?”) and romantic (“They found one another again!”).

What You’ll Miss

MaMa sends Hollie mail every week.

It’s a kind of devotion that I admire. I used to write to my Nana sporadically. I respond to my cousin’s letters almost immediately. But they’re sporadic, too.

I have a friend who has never failed to send a card for appropriate holidays. Her mom sends them, too. They arrive within days of one another.

I am not that organized.

So my mom’s weekly ritual of filling out the note and folding it into the envelope and dropping it into the mail box is one that demonstrates her devotion to my daughter. And we’re so blessed by that devotion.

As we age, the rituals of our lives together fade.

We used to swim on the summer league team and dad would make us milkshakes before meets.

We used to open one gift every Christmas Eve, it was always new pajamas and always from my Dad’s mom (though we learned later my mom had bought them, wrapped them, and signed Nell’s name).

The Wrong Love Song

Are you the one Bruno Mars regrets?

When he sings, “I hope he buys you flowers, and holds your hand, gives you all his hours, when he has the chance,” is he wishing he hadn’t taken you for granted?

Bruno croons that he was wrong and that he knows it’s probably too late to apologize for his mistakes.

He says the loss of you haunts him every time he closes his eyes.

And the problem with that is:

We all want to be you.

We all think we are that girl. In so many break ups we just know that boy doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s going to regret leaving me.

Someday, like Mariah said, the one you gave away will be the only one you’re wishing for.

And then Bruno agrees: he does wish for her, for me, for you.

It doesn’t matter if you’re twelve and suffering your first rejection as I was when Mariah told me that there would be a time when that boy would be cold and lonely but I wouldn’t need his love anymore.

Or if you’re 19 and Alanis Morissette tells you he’ll feel it when you scratch your nails down someone else’s back.

Or Natalie Merchant suggests sometimes when he makes love to her he might say your name.

We all want to be the one that got away.