Tell me what you pay attention to, and I will tell you who you are.
~ Jose Ortega y Gasset
When people show you who they are, believe them the first time.
~ Maya Angelou
The GOP is paying a lot of attention to Donald Trump. In the process, GOP Trump supporters are telling the nation exactly who the GOP is, and I'm believing them the first time. And for that, the Democratic National Committee says, "Thank you, GOP."
At first I thought the whole Donald Trump thing would die out, especially after he made misogynistic remarks about Megyn Kelly. I thought he definitely could not continue to pick up steam after using the term "anchor babies."
Not only did he pick up steam, he got Jeb Bush jockin' him and using the term, too.
Poor Chris Christie wants to avoid paying attention to Trump, but he can't seem to do so. Yesterday on CBS This Morning, Christie said it wasn't his job to talk about Trump but to talk about his own ideas. He did, however, take a swipe at Hillary Clinton, saying she was not qualified to run for president because of the FBI investigation of her email server. That's funny coming from someone who almost caught a case himself behind a missing Democratic endorsement and some resulting bridge constipation induced by his staff. The lack of self-awareness among the GOP candidates almost rival's Clinton's, what with her ill-chosen SnapChat joke.
But the rally in Mobile, Alabama -- Black Man Not Blogging's hometown -- said it all. That crowd was whiter than the sheets at a Klan rally. With Donald Trump, they were having their White Privilege Moment, getting high on their own supply -- of white privilege, that is.
"White Privilege Moment?", you ask? Yes, it's a moment, for electoral purposes.
What Trump's supporters like about him is his "tell it like it is" way of speaking and his refusal to be "politically correct," with him making a sexist joke about a female reporter and making amends with her male boss, and not her, about it, or having Jorge Ramos thrown out of a press conference for daring to take him on about his immigration policy (more about the two-faced nature of GOP immigration politics later). These GOP Trump supporters like the idea of Trump telling countries like Mexico that they're going to build a wall between them and the U.S. AND pay for it, or threatening to put China in its place. These poor folks long for a President who will tell marginalized people (people who don't look and/or think like them) and other countries what he ain't gonna do for them and what they ain't gonna do about it.
Cue "Dixie."
To borrow a turn of phrase from my mama, I'ma let them have their White Privilege Moment, just like they did when they put Mitt Romney up against Barack Obama and got b-slapped in the general election. Why?
Because demography is destiny.
Jorge Ramos is right -- the GOP cannot win the general election without the Latino vote, 'cause they sho ain't gonna get the black vote. Threatening to send U.S. citizens -- children no less -- born of undocumented parents back to their parents' home countries is no way to get the Latino vote. Epic. Fail. You can't even think of trying to tack to the center after being so far to the right of the Latino vote and much of the electorate in general especially in light of the two-faced nature of GOP immigration politics.
The GOP is so damned two-faced on immigration policy that it makes me want to scream. Who does Donald Trump think builds his buildings, cleans his hotels and casinos, and serves in his restaurants? If ICE did an immigration sweep right now of every Trump entity, I'm sure there would be a whole lot of undocumented workers caught up, undocumented workers who come to this country to work and whose presence in industries owned and run by GOP voters is benignly ignored when the GOP talks about immigration policy. If "President Trump" were to ramp up deportations, California's agriculture industry -- its biggest industry by far - would come to a screeching halt. Yet, California's central valley farmers, most of whom are Republican, are strangely silent on Trump's immigration policy. Trust me, if you deport the undocumented, no one else is going to step up to do the hard labor they do, especially not my people. Field work is so last millennium for my peeps, and they sure would open up a can of "Si Se Puede" union organizing in a heartbeat if you tried to get them to pick crops. When it comes to immigration policy, the GOP has a stunning lack of self-awareness.
But the Trump supporters continue on with their White Privilege Moment. In their mind, a Trump presidency would, to borrow from an old song, "lift them up where they belong," i.e., not having to give a crap about people who don't look or think like them. Demography be damned. And so they'll continue to support Trump because the White Privilege Moment feels so good to them, and because the rest of the GOP contenders collectively and individually lack the balls of a field mouse when it comes to having the courage to call Trump out.
But demography is still destiny. The demographic the GOP needs but does not have in its winning coalition is taking note of who the GOP is paying so much attention to. Just like the polls were misleading with respect to Mitt Romney's standing, they will be misleading with respect to accurately capturing the amount of Trump disgust among the Obama coalition of voters -- young people and people of color -- because these voters don't always vote consistently enough to be considered "most likely voters" pollsters use, and yet they come out in droves for the general election like a sneaker wave when there's a candidate they love (Obama) or hate (Romney or Trump).
Which means that Trump. Can't. Win.
But go on, GOP. Enjoy your White Privilege Moment.
P.S. Vice President Biden, please put Democratic donors out of their misery and run. You know Hillary can't win, either.
An Inherited Mindset? (Or Why You Shouldn't Marry a Sharecropper's Child)
I had the good fortune to sit down with my 87 year-old uncle, whom I will refer to as "Uncle B," because of extremely bad fortune: The death of his brother, my Uncle F. The reason why this sit-down was such good fortune is because I learned a lot about myself from learning from him about his mother, my grandmother who I never met.
My grandmother died before I was born. She appears in the 1930 census in the rural Deep South as a twenty-seven year old widow with young children. Because my grandfather owned his own grist mill, a shoe cobbler shop, and the land his shop and his house were on before he died in 1928, my grandmother was a property owner in the Deep South during the Great Depression when she was widowed.
Which means she could vote as long as she paid her 50 cent poll tax. She paid, and she voted.
Mind you, this was no small feat for a widowed black mother in the rural Deep South during the Great Depression. History tells us that black folks were getting killed for even daring to register to vote during that time, much less actually voting.
Yet and still, she voted.
Uncle B. also told me of something that she did that might not have met with the approval of other rural black townspeople during that era. Imagining a widowed twenty-something black mother during the Great Depression as being someone weak and in need of protection, I asked with fear, "How did people treat her? Did they shun her?"
Uncle B. said, "No. What could they do to her? We were property owners. We didn't depend on other folks." Uncle B. elaborated on their property owners' mindset. "Back then, we used to say, 'Don't marry a sharecropper's son' or 'Don't marry a sharecropper's daughter.' It wasn't about them being a sharecropper's son or daughter. It was about the mindset they inherited from their parents. Sharecroppers didn't believe they would ever own anything. If you don't think you'll ever have anything, you never will."
Uncle B. also told me that my grandmother was considered quite the catch after she was widowed because she could read and write and she owned property. She had been sent away to Spelman for high school and college (Uncle B believes my grandfather, for whom she worked before she married him, paid for her education, but my dad always said her sisters paid for her education). My grandmother would spend her weekends reading and writing letters for black folks who couldn't read and write. Uncle B. also told me that when she broke up with one suitor, she told him, "I'm through with you. Don't come back. And get off my property."
And when someone did her wrong or threatened to do her wrong, she called on her sisters, and they had her back. And they would fight for and alongside her. Even against men.
I'm so much like my grandmother that it's not even funny.
Does this mean I inherited a different mindset, from a grandmother I never even knew, no less?
Perhaps.
Exhibit 1: I am a fanatic about voting. I once stopped a lecture in one of my Property courses to harangue my students about the importance of voting. I scolded my black students, telling them that too many black folks had died for the right to vote for them to disrespect that sacrifice by not voting. When I was single, I wouldn't even date a guy if he didn't vote. To me, the failure of a guy to vote was the equivalent of having bad hygiene. Ick.
Exhibit 2: I am a strong believer in property ownership and not depending on anyone financially. That's why I spent a year with Black Man Not Blogging creating and teaching a curriculum on financial independence for my family.
Exhibit 3: I have always believed that every act starts with a belief. I never doubted that I would go to college. I never doubted that I would attend Harvard. I never doubted that I would be an attorney. I never doubted I would achieve any goal about which I was very serious, because I simply believed. I did not have a sharecropper's mentality -- the belief that you won't have anything.
Exhibit 4: I've never believed that I was less than men just because I'm a woman. Last summer, I designed and helped oversee the remodel of my mother-in-law's house. Quite frankly, I used the remodeling as an excuse to use my own power tools. When I was putting up the last of seven curtain rods, all of which I had installed by myself (Thank you, Ryobi drill people!), one of my in-laws said to me: "You really do think you're equal to men, don't you?" I replied, "I just don't see what having a penis has to do with being able to measure and do math." When I shared my in-law's comment with Uncle B., he said, "Well, that's just stupidity on steroids." He turned to my sisters and me and said very seriously, "Girls, know your worth." Clearly, my grandmother knew her worth. (By the way, only an 87 year-old uncle would call his fifty- and sixty-something nieces "girls." Too cute.)
Exhibit 5: I learned not to have qualms about dismissing men from my life if they were not for me. When I was single, once I learned how to break up with the first two boyfriends, breaking up with the rest of them was easy, and I started to do so more quickly whenever I realized they were not for me. There was one guy who owed me money when I was getting ready to break up with him. I broke up with him AND demanded a check for what he owed me. He paid me on the spot. And yes, the check cleared. Like my grandmother, once I decided that a man was not for me, I dismissed him for good, with one notable exception: Black Man Not Blogging. Like my grandmother telling her suitor, "Get off my property," I kicked boyfriends or aspiring boyfriends out of my car, out of my apartment, and out of my office at a law firm when I was single.
Exhibit 6: When I need backup, I call on my sisters. They always have my back, even if they think I'm wrong, which is something we resolve within the sisterhood, not outside of the sisterhood.
Exhibit 7: I know my worth. My grandmother knew her worth. So do I.
I'm so grateful for having had this wonderful grandmother I never met, for inheriting her mindset, and for my Uncle B. sharing her with me.
Now I have to think about the mindset I'm passing down . . . . .
My grandmother died before I was born. She appears in the 1930 census in the rural Deep South as a twenty-seven year old widow with young children. Because my grandfather owned his own grist mill, a shoe cobbler shop, and the land his shop and his house were on before he died in 1928, my grandmother was a property owner in the Deep South during the Great Depression when she was widowed.
Which means she could vote as long as she paid her 50 cent poll tax. She paid, and she voted.
Mind you, this was no small feat for a widowed black mother in the rural Deep South during the Great Depression. History tells us that black folks were getting killed for even daring to register to vote during that time, much less actually voting.
Yet and still, she voted.
Uncle B. also told me of something that she did that might not have met with the approval of other rural black townspeople during that era. Imagining a widowed twenty-something black mother during the Great Depression as being someone weak and in need of protection, I asked with fear, "How did people treat her? Did they shun her?"
Uncle B. said, "No. What could they do to her? We were property owners. We didn't depend on other folks." Uncle B. elaborated on their property owners' mindset. "Back then, we used to say, 'Don't marry a sharecropper's son' or 'Don't marry a sharecropper's daughter.' It wasn't about them being a sharecropper's son or daughter. It was about the mindset they inherited from their parents. Sharecroppers didn't believe they would ever own anything. If you don't think you'll ever have anything, you never will."
Uncle B. also told me that my grandmother was considered quite the catch after she was widowed because she could read and write and she owned property. She had been sent away to Spelman for high school and college (Uncle B believes my grandfather, for whom she worked before she married him, paid for her education, but my dad always said her sisters paid for her education). My grandmother would spend her weekends reading and writing letters for black folks who couldn't read and write. Uncle B. also told me that when she broke up with one suitor, she told him, "I'm through with you. Don't come back. And get off my property."
And when someone did her wrong or threatened to do her wrong, she called on her sisters, and they had her back. And they would fight for and alongside her. Even against men.
I'm so much like my grandmother that it's not even funny.
Does this mean I inherited a different mindset, from a grandmother I never even knew, no less?
Perhaps.
Exhibit 1: I am a fanatic about voting. I once stopped a lecture in one of my Property courses to harangue my students about the importance of voting. I scolded my black students, telling them that too many black folks had died for the right to vote for them to disrespect that sacrifice by not voting. When I was single, I wouldn't even date a guy if he didn't vote. To me, the failure of a guy to vote was the equivalent of having bad hygiene. Ick.
Exhibit 2: I am a strong believer in property ownership and not depending on anyone financially. That's why I spent a year with Black Man Not Blogging creating and teaching a curriculum on financial independence for my family.
Exhibit 3: I have always believed that every act starts with a belief. I never doubted that I would go to college. I never doubted that I would attend Harvard. I never doubted that I would be an attorney. I never doubted I would achieve any goal about which I was very serious, because I simply believed. I did not have a sharecropper's mentality -- the belief that you won't have anything.
Exhibit 4: I've never believed that I was less than men just because I'm a woman. Last summer, I designed and helped oversee the remodel of my mother-in-law's house. Quite frankly, I used the remodeling as an excuse to use my own power tools. When I was putting up the last of seven curtain rods, all of which I had installed by myself (Thank you, Ryobi drill people!), one of my in-laws said to me: "You really do think you're equal to men, don't you?" I replied, "I just don't see what having a penis has to do with being able to measure and do math." When I shared my in-law's comment with Uncle B., he said, "Well, that's just stupidity on steroids." He turned to my sisters and me and said very seriously, "Girls, know your worth." Clearly, my grandmother knew her worth. (By the way, only an 87 year-old uncle would call his fifty- and sixty-something nieces "girls." Too cute.)
Exhibit 5: I learned not to have qualms about dismissing men from my life if they were not for me. When I was single, once I learned how to break up with the first two boyfriends, breaking up with the rest of them was easy, and I started to do so more quickly whenever I realized they were not for me. There was one guy who owed me money when I was getting ready to break up with him. I broke up with him AND demanded a check for what he owed me. He paid me on the spot. And yes, the check cleared. Like my grandmother, once I decided that a man was not for me, I dismissed him for good, with one notable exception: Black Man Not Blogging. Like my grandmother telling her suitor, "Get off my property," I kicked boyfriends or aspiring boyfriends out of my car, out of my apartment, and out of my office at a law firm when I was single.
Exhibit 6: When I need backup, I call on my sisters. They always have my back, even if they think I'm wrong, which is something we resolve within the sisterhood, not outside of the sisterhood.
Exhibit 7: I know my worth. My grandmother knew her worth. So do I.
I'm so grateful for having had this wonderful grandmother I never met, for inheriting her mindset, and for my Uncle B. sharing her with me.
Now I have to think about the mindset I'm passing down . . . . .
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