What Google Could Learn About Black History Month From Gov. Jerry Brown (Don't Be Culturally Ignorant)
February is Black History Month in the U.S. and we're taking the opportunity to celebrate the diversity of our Googlers and the communities in which we work and live. Our blog post below highlights some of the ongoing work we're doing with underrepresented groups, and you can follow +Life at Google to stay up to date with our celebrations throughout the month, and to find out more about our diversity efforts.
~ From Google's blog, https://plus.google.com/+google/posts/JJh2Jgh2n4v
Really, Google? Black History Month is the time for you to celebrate "diversity"? I don't think so.
First off, I generally like Google. I'm a Google shareholder, I use boatloads of Google products, and I'm even willing to forgive them for forking over private user information to the NSA without much of a fight until recently.
That's why I'm surprised that Google could be so culturally tone deaf about the purpose and meaning of Black History Month. Even if corporate leviathans like Google use it for a marketing opportunity, at least they're a bit more nuanced about it than Google.
Google, it's not "Diversity Month," it's "Black History Month." The emphasis is on the history part. It's not "Black Present Month" where you get to trot out the few black folks you have working for you, most of whom were probably born after the demise of vinyl records and probably can't be said to have made history just yet. For most of us black folks, "Black History Month" is a time to remember the sacrifices and triumphs against adversity of our ancestors who came before us, not one of your black Googlers presently occupying a cubicle. Would you post a blog entry during Passover saying, "We're taking the opportunity to celebrate our Jewish Googlers"? I don't think so.
Context, Google. It's all about context. Let me show you how to celebrate Black History Month. Exhibit A: The Black History Month Proclamation from California Governor Jerry Brown, Jr.:
PROCLAMATION
BY THE GOVERNOR OF THE STATE OF CALIFORNIA
African-Americans have played a central role in our nation’s history, but for too long historians ignored or glossed over their contributions and the injustices they have suffered. The origins of Black History Month can be traced to the scholar Carter G. Woodson, who in 1926 conceived a yearly celebration to help rectify the omission of African-Americans from history books. Today, the observance of Black History Month throughout the United States stands as testament to the success of Woodson’s project and an example of how we can work together to make the teaching of history more honest.
The theme of Black History Month 2014 is “Civil Rights in America.” In the century between their formal emancipation and the successful campaign to have their civil rights protected by the law, African-Americans suffered oppression as brutal as the abuses of slavery and exclusion from the ever-growing prosperity that other Americans enjoyed. Facing terrible odds, they worked tirelessly to achieve full equality with other citizens, and this month we celebrate their bravery, toil and sacrifice on this long road to justice.
NOW THEREFORE I, EDMUND G. BROWN JR., Governor of the State of California, do hereby proclaim February 2014, as “Black History Month.”
IN WITNESS WHEREOF I have hereunto set my hand and caused the Great Seal of the State of California to be affixed this 30th day of January 2014.
That's how it's done, Google. Don't be culturally ignorant.
Daring Greatly on Valentine's Day: Speed Dating for Single Book Lovers, The Brickhouse Art Gallery, Sacramento
"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly ... who at best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly." ~ Theodore Roosevelt
It is from this quote that author Brene Brown derived the title of her book, "Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent and Lead." If all goes according to plan, approximately 32 single people who love books will dare greatly in search of a partner at my second "Speed Dating for Single Book Lovers" event on February 14, 2014 at The Brickhouse Art Gallery in Sacramento at 6:00 pm. The event is free (details are below).
To be a single person who is willing to be vulnerable enough to admit that you want a partner and daring enough to go to a speed dating event to find one is amazing. In all honesty, I would not want to be a single woman in these times. We've become a critical, cynical society. We Tweet, Facebook and blog other's shortcomings -- I'm even guilty of doing that. To be willing to put yourself out there and go on the equivalent of 16 blind dates -- albeit, very short blind dates -- in two hours is indeed valiant.
Truthfully, though, you cannot find love without being vulnerable. It just can't happen. You have to be willing to meet people, share a little something of yourself, invest time, and face rejection at any point along the journey in the hopes that you will find and receive a love that's worthy, affirming, and joyful. Nowadays, everybody's got their guards up. No one wants to be that vulnerable person, or at least not first. But, as Brene Brown would be the first to tell you, vulnerability is the sine qua non of finding love. I salute these brave souls who are coming to the event.
And at the risk of tooting my own horn, I'm daring a little greatly myself. Those of you who read my blog regularly know that I put on this same event five years ago and blogged about how I desperately needed Baracks for my Michelles -- the African-American women of substance and style I knew would be attending the event. It was by the grace of God, some called-in favors (including a favor from The Outraged Citizen, in which I all but begged him to attend), and one guy who went outside and called all his boys to come, that I had even a reasonable amount of men for the ladies. To be honest, I didn't want to chance it again. I'm anxiety-ridden enough as it is; I didn't want the responsibility of having to round up all those African-American men of substance AGAIN and the possibility of failing, even if I would have been daring greatly.
But it's been five years, and one of the speed daters, The Outraged Citizen, found his partner at that speed dating event. She's a fabulous lady, they've been together since, and that is cause enough for celebration.
So I'm sending out a prayer to God and the universe to once again send me enough single African-American men of substance, men who really do love books and African-American women (or men of any race who love books and African-American women), to come to this FREE event. Although I expect a predominantly African-American crowd, this event is open to single people of all races who love books. Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) will again help me chaperone, and I'm going to do my best to have those purple tulips, starched white tablecloths, candles and low lights with some background jazz going. Just the right environment to talk about books . . . and dare greatly in the name of love. Here are the deets:
Speed Dating for Single Book Lovers
Friday, February 14, 2014 6:00 pm
The Brickhouse Art Gallery
2837 36th Street at Broadway
Sacramento, CA 95817
Cost: It's Free!
Single = Not married, not separated, and not in a committed relationship.
Dress is casually elegant; no jeans, sneakers or club gear, please.
Bring a positive vibe. Space is limited. RSVP at speeddating4singlebooklovers@gmail.com
Co-sponsored by underground books, The Brickhouse Art Gallery, and Should Have Been There Events
It is from this quote that author Brene Brown derived the title of her book, "Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent and Lead." If all goes according to plan, approximately 32 single people who love books will dare greatly in search of a partner at my second "Speed Dating for Single Book Lovers" event on February 14, 2014 at The Brickhouse Art Gallery in Sacramento at 6:00 pm. The event is free (details are below).
To be a single person who is willing to be vulnerable enough to admit that you want a partner and daring enough to go to a speed dating event to find one is amazing. In all honesty, I would not want to be a single woman in these times. We've become a critical, cynical society. We Tweet, Facebook and blog other's shortcomings -- I'm even guilty of doing that. To be willing to put yourself out there and go on the equivalent of 16 blind dates -- albeit, very short blind dates -- in two hours is indeed valiant.
Truthfully, though, you cannot find love without being vulnerable. It just can't happen. You have to be willing to meet people, share a little something of yourself, invest time, and face rejection at any point along the journey in the hopes that you will find and receive a love that's worthy, affirming, and joyful. Nowadays, everybody's got their guards up. No one wants to be that vulnerable person, or at least not first. But, as Brene Brown would be the first to tell you, vulnerability is the sine qua non of finding love. I salute these brave souls who are coming to the event.
And at the risk of tooting my own horn, I'm daring a little greatly myself. Those of you who read my blog regularly know that I put on this same event five years ago and blogged about how I desperately needed Baracks for my Michelles -- the African-American women of substance and style I knew would be attending the event. It was by the grace of God, some called-in favors (including a favor from The Outraged Citizen, in which I all but begged him to attend), and one guy who went outside and called all his boys to come, that I had even a reasonable amount of men for the ladies. To be honest, I didn't want to chance it again. I'm anxiety-ridden enough as it is; I didn't want the responsibility of having to round up all those African-American men of substance AGAIN and the possibility of failing, even if I would have been daring greatly.
But it's been five years, and one of the speed daters, The Outraged Citizen, found his partner at that speed dating event. She's a fabulous lady, they've been together since, and that is cause enough for celebration.
So I'm sending out a prayer to God and the universe to once again send me enough single African-American men of substance, men who really do love books and African-American women (or men of any race who love books and African-American women), to come to this FREE event. Although I expect a predominantly African-American crowd, this event is open to single people of all races who love books. Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) will again help me chaperone, and I'm going to do my best to have those purple tulips, starched white tablecloths, candles and low lights with some background jazz going. Just the right environment to talk about books . . . and dare greatly in the name of love. Here are the deets:
Speed Dating for Single Book Lovers
Friday, February 14, 2014 6:00 pm
The Brickhouse Art Gallery
2837 36th Street at Broadway
Sacramento, CA 95817
Cost: It's Free!
Single = Not married, not separated, and not in a committed relationship.
Dress is casually elegant; no jeans, sneakers or club gear, please.
Bring a positive vibe. Space is limited. RSVP at speeddating4singlebooklovers@gmail.com
Co-sponsored by underground books, The Brickhouse Art Gallery, and Should Have Been There Events
Mothers, Your Children Are Learning From You, But You May Not Live To See The Results
Today would have been my mother's 80th birthday,. I refer to her in this blog as "She Who Is Exalted," or SWIE. It's funny to me how so much of what she taught me I only started applying after she died. So my message to all you moms out there is this: Your children are learning from you, but you may not live to see the results.
One of the things I learned from my mother was to be observant of people and pay attention to what they say and do, then plan how to deal with them accordingly. Like my mom, after I've seen and heard enough, I've pretty much sized someone up and I plan accordingly. Unlike my mom, I didn't get good at this until later in life. There's at least one person who is gone from my life who my mom warned me about from childhood. Another person in my life is someone she met while I was in college and said, "Something ain't right about" that person. It took me years to see what my mom saw after only one meeting. And she was right. Still is. But she didn't live to see that I learned the lesson.
There are a lot of little things I learned from watching my mom that, when I don't do them, my life gets chaotic. My mom was vigilant about always making sure we never ran out of toilet paper (no small feat with a family of eight); making sure there was always, always food in the fridge (for her, poverty wasn't a lack of money; it was an empty fridge); paying all her bills on the first of the month (which I now do); packing lunches and laying out the next day's clothes the night before (me, not so much); doing laundry daily (she washed towels every day -- again, we were a family of eight); keeping her house and us on a cleaning schedule; and making sure she never had less than a half a tank of gas in her car (she was afraid she'd need to get a sick child to the hospital in the middle of the night).
My mom's standards about children are those I hope to live up with kids of my own because they are seared on my brain. My mother would never let us leave the house in wrinkled or dirty clothes or without our hair being combed. When I see a child out and about with wrinkled or dirty clothes or messed-up hair, I instinctively cringe and hear my mother say, "Where do you think you're going? Not like that you're not." My mother believed that children's appearances represent their parents' best efforts, and she refused to be misrepresented, especially when she worked so hard to keep us clean and fed.
My mother also insisted on manners. We were taught not to ask for as much as a glass of water when we were visiting someone else's home. We could have whatever was offered to us, and not too much, but we were not to ask. And we were never, ever to open someone else's fridge. My mom didn't want us acting like we hadn't been fed.
My mother also had higher expectations for her daughters because she felt the world was not fair when it came to women, and women had to be smart and fend for themselves because there were usually children depending on us. She drilled into our heads to never, ever, EVAH depend on a man. We girls heard this time and again: "Do for self." "Always have your own job, your own car, your own money, and your own home." "Get your education so you don't have to depend on no man." She didn't live to see all four of her daughter become homeowners, but she did live to see all of us girls get some kind of college degree, have our own money, and have our own cars. She knew before she died that we were capable of taking care of ourselves.
When it came to romance and men, my mom's advice was practical. "You better try on them shoes before you buy 'em." "Use birth control. Ain't no excuse to get pregnant nowadays if you don't want to be."
The three character traits my mother could not stand were laziness, stinginess, and whining. Whenever we were getting too lax with our chores, she'd go on a rant and rave that would have us all ducking for cover and running for the exits. When we didn't want to share, she'd threaten to take whatever we were hoarding away from us and shame us into sharing by saying , "That's your sister (or brother)! You're supposed to share with her (him)." And when we whined about life not being fair, she'd suck her teeth and say, "Hmpf. Who promised you fair? Well, they lied to you!." Even now when I start to indulge in a personal pity party, I am reminded of what my mother said and become thankful for the times when the pendulum of good fortune swang in my direction. And when the pendulum of good fortune swings away from me, I'm reminded of another lesson my mother taught me. "Everybody falls down. Everybody. You can lay down there for a while, but then you have to get up." To this day, I have no patience for laziness, stinginess, or whining. I am my mother's daughter. And as much as I doubt it sometimes, I am resilient.
So mothers, I write all this to say that even when you don't think your children are learning from you, they are. They really are, but you may not live to see the results. Just keep on planting those seeds of wisdom, even if they sprout in your children's heads and hearts after you're gone. You will have done more for your children than many other parents who had no wisdom to impart. And here's the kicker -- the wisdom gets handed down to your grandchildren and great-grandchildren, some of whom you might not ever meet. My husband, Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB), is constantly quoting his grandmother: "Don't say once what you can't say twice." "Cain't nobody ride your back if you don't bend over." "I'ma give you what you need. If you need a hug, I'ma give you a hug. If you need an ass whuppin', I'ma give you that, too."
Another lesson my mother taught me that she didn't live to see play out in my life was this: "You only get one mother. Y'all gonna miss me when I'm gone."
Truer words were never spoken.
Happy Birthday, Mom.
One of the things I learned from my mother was to be observant of people and pay attention to what they say and do, then plan how to deal with them accordingly. Like my mom, after I've seen and heard enough, I've pretty much sized someone up and I plan accordingly. Unlike my mom, I didn't get good at this until later in life. There's at least one person who is gone from my life who my mom warned me about from childhood. Another person in my life is someone she met while I was in college and said, "Something ain't right about" that person. It took me years to see what my mom saw after only one meeting. And she was right. Still is. But she didn't live to see that I learned the lesson.
There are a lot of little things I learned from watching my mom that, when I don't do them, my life gets chaotic. My mom was vigilant about always making sure we never ran out of toilet paper (no small feat with a family of eight); making sure there was always, always food in the fridge (for her, poverty wasn't a lack of money; it was an empty fridge); paying all her bills on the first of the month (which I now do); packing lunches and laying out the next day's clothes the night before (me, not so much); doing laundry daily (she washed towels every day -- again, we were a family of eight); keeping her house and us on a cleaning schedule; and making sure she never had less than a half a tank of gas in her car (she was afraid she'd need to get a sick child to the hospital in the middle of the night).
My mom's standards about children are those I hope to live up with kids of my own because they are seared on my brain. My mother would never let us leave the house in wrinkled or dirty clothes or without our hair being combed. When I see a child out and about with wrinkled or dirty clothes or messed-up hair, I instinctively cringe and hear my mother say, "Where do you think you're going? Not like that you're not." My mother believed that children's appearances represent their parents' best efforts, and she refused to be misrepresented, especially when she worked so hard to keep us clean and fed.
My mother also insisted on manners. We were taught not to ask for as much as a glass of water when we were visiting someone else's home. We could have whatever was offered to us, and not too much, but we were not to ask. And we were never, ever to open someone else's fridge. My mom didn't want us acting like we hadn't been fed.
My mother also had higher expectations for her daughters because she felt the world was not fair when it came to women, and women had to be smart and fend for themselves because there were usually children depending on us. She drilled into our heads to never, ever, EVAH depend on a man. We girls heard this time and again: "Do for self." "Always have your own job, your own car, your own money, and your own home." "Get your education so you don't have to depend on no man." She didn't live to see all four of her daughter become homeowners, but she did live to see all of us girls get some kind of college degree, have our own money, and have our own cars. She knew before she died that we were capable of taking care of ourselves.
When it came to romance and men, my mom's advice was practical. "You better try on them shoes before you buy 'em." "Use birth control. Ain't no excuse to get pregnant nowadays if you don't want to be."
The three character traits my mother could not stand were laziness, stinginess, and whining. Whenever we were getting too lax with our chores, she'd go on a rant and rave that would have us all ducking for cover and running for the exits. When we didn't want to share, she'd threaten to take whatever we were hoarding away from us and shame us into sharing by saying , "That's your sister (or brother)! You're supposed to share with her (him)." And when we whined about life not being fair, she'd suck her teeth and say, "Hmpf. Who promised you fair? Well, they lied to you!." Even now when I start to indulge in a personal pity party, I am reminded of what my mother said and become thankful for the times when the pendulum of good fortune swang in my direction. And when the pendulum of good fortune swings away from me, I'm reminded of another lesson my mother taught me. "Everybody falls down. Everybody. You can lay down there for a while, but then you have to get up." To this day, I have no patience for laziness, stinginess, or whining. I am my mother's daughter. And as much as I doubt it sometimes, I am resilient.
So mothers, I write all this to say that even when you don't think your children are learning from you, they are. They really are, but you may not live to see the results. Just keep on planting those seeds of wisdom, even if they sprout in your children's heads and hearts after you're gone. You will have done more for your children than many other parents who had no wisdom to impart. And here's the kicker -- the wisdom gets handed down to your grandchildren and great-grandchildren, some of whom you might not ever meet. My husband, Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB), is constantly quoting his grandmother: "Don't say once what you can't say twice." "Cain't nobody ride your back if you don't bend over." "I'ma give you what you need. If you need a hug, I'ma give you a hug. If you need an ass whuppin', I'ma give you that, too."
Another lesson my mother taught me that she didn't live to see play out in my life was this: "You only get one mother. Y'all gonna miss me when I'm gone."
Truer words were never spoken.
Happy Birthday, Mom.
My Only Resolution for 2014: To Use What I Have
As we approach the beginning of a new year, the default mode for most of us, myself included, is to draw up plans for the coming year. Many of us have fallen away from those plans in the past, myself included. This year, I've decided to keep it simple, making one resolution and only one for 2014: To use what I have.
The idea came to me when I thought about how I had organized my pantry and, to my detriment, had to throw out a lot of food that had expired. I wasted a lot of food out of sheer disorganization. I could have fed myself, BMNB, and a whole host of others if I had donated the food before it expired. I decided going forward to use what I have -- to look in my pantry before making grocery lists or find recipes using what I already have.
The idea of using what you have applies to more than food in your pantry. Many times I think that if I buy this or that new gadget (Zumba DVD) or pay money for something I already have (a gym membership near my new job despite the fact that my neighborhood clubhouse has a well-equipped gym I already pay for with HOA fees), that I'm more likely to use those things. Tell that to the 7-part Gaiam Yoga series tape (yes, I have a DVD player that also plays VHS tapes) and the more than 60 workout tapes and DVDs I have, not counting the elliptical machine, aerobic step, Windsor Pilates strap, dumb bells, two inflatable exercise balls, yoga blocks and countless yoga mats I already have. If I merely used what I have (I have enough exercise DVDs and videos to do a different one every day for two months), I would have already reached my fitness and weight loss goals.
Just as the food was always in my pantry and the exercise equipment always in my house, what I need to accomplish whatever it is I set my mind to, I already have. I simply have to use it.
Using what I have isn't just about accomplishing things; it's also about the joy that comes from using the gifts that God gave me. If I had to describe myself, I would describe myself as a creator. I like creating things, whether through writing, crocheting, cooking, decorating, starting a business, brainstorming with friends or leading. I like figuring out what I need to do to make something out of nothing other than an idea and then doing it. And I'm pretty good at these things and enjoy doing them.
When you think of it, why would God give you a gift if he didn't want you to use it? And what a joy we get from using those gifts! I recently saw a video on Facebook in which the narrator said that the richest place in the world was the cemetery because it was full of all the unused talents and dreams that people had taken with them to the grave. The video exhorted us to, like a car driving a fumes, "end our lives on E," having used up all the gifts and dreams God gave us. Word.
My wish for all of you dear readers and myself is that we use the gifts God has given us. . . as well as all those Billy Blank Tae-Bo VHS tapes and hidden cans of salsa in the pantry.
Happy New Year!
The idea came to me when I thought about how I had organized my pantry and, to my detriment, had to throw out a lot of food that had expired. I wasted a lot of food out of sheer disorganization. I could have fed myself, BMNB, and a whole host of others if I had donated the food before it expired. I decided going forward to use what I have -- to look in my pantry before making grocery lists or find recipes using what I already have.
The idea of using what you have applies to more than food in your pantry. Many times I think that if I buy this or that new gadget (Zumba DVD) or pay money for something I already have (a gym membership near my new job despite the fact that my neighborhood clubhouse has a well-equipped gym I already pay for with HOA fees), that I'm more likely to use those things. Tell that to the 7-part Gaiam Yoga series tape (yes, I have a DVD player that also plays VHS tapes) and the more than 60 workout tapes and DVDs I have, not counting the elliptical machine, aerobic step, Windsor Pilates strap, dumb bells, two inflatable exercise balls, yoga blocks and countless yoga mats I already have. If I merely used what I have (I have enough exercise DVDs and videos to do a different one every day for two months), I would have already reached my fitness and weight loss goals.
Just as the food was always in my pantry and the exercise equipment always in my house, what I need to accomplish whatever it is I set my mind to, I already have. I simply have to use it.
Using what I have isn't just about accomplishing things; it's also about the joy that comes from using the gifts that God gave me. If I had to describe myself, I would describe myself as a creator. I like creating things, whether through writing, crocheting, cooking, decorating, starting a business, brainstorming with friends or leading. I like figuring out what I need to do to make something out of nothing other than an idea and then doing it. And I'm pretty good at these things and enjoy doing them.
When you think of it, why would God give you a gift if he didn't want you to use it? And what a joy we get from using those gifts! I recently saw a video on Facebook in which the narrator said that the richest place in the world was the cemetery because it was full of all the unused talents and dreams that people had taken with them to the grave. The video exhorted us to, like a car driving a fumes, "end our lives on E," having used up all the gifts and dreams God gave us. Word.
My wish for all of you dear readers and myself is that we use the gifts God has given us. . . as well as all those Billy Blank Tae-Bo VHS tapes and hidden cans of salsa in the pantry.
Happy New Year!
A Double Standard in Judging Bigotry (Phil Robertson versus Paula Deen)
I noticed that Phil Robertson has been allowed to return to "Duck Dynasty." Well and good. Actually, I don't know how you allow someone to return to a show that probably would not exist without him, but hey, what do I know.
But isn't this a double standard in judging bigotry?
I noticed last week in Wal-Mart that none of the "Duck Dynasty" licensed goods -- t-shirts, blankets, etc. -- had been removed from the shelves. Yet, when Paula Deen was vilified for a racial slur she uttered decades ago, she not only lost her show, but her licensed goods were yanked from Wal-Mart's shelves tout suite.
So, Phil Robertson's comments that were offensive to two groups -- the LGBT community and the African-American community -- were less offensive than the one racial slur Paula Deen uttered in the '60's that was offensive to only one group?
Am I missing something here?
I guess calling ducks is more remunerative to corporate America than cooking them.
But isn't this a double standard in judging bigotry?
I noticed last week in Wal-Mart that none of the "Duck Dynasty" licensed goods -- t-shirts, blankets, etc. -- had been removed from the shelves. Yet, when Paula Deen was vilified for a racial slur she uttered decades ago, she not only lost her show, but her licensed goods were yanked from Wal-Mart's shelves tout suite.
So, Phil Robertson's comments that were offensive to two groups -- the LGBT community and the African-American community -- were less offensive than the one racial slur Paula Deen uttered in the '60's that was offensive to only one group?
Am I missing something here?
I guess calling ducks is more remunerative to corporate America than cooking them.
In Defense of Phil Robertson (The Right Thing To Do)
I haven't been following the dust-up about Phil Robertson's quotes in GQ magazine as closely as some, and I don't necessarily share the same feelings about them as does my sister, The Writing Diva. I think issues of race and sexual orientation in the South are more complex than those of us raised outside the South understand. When a white Southerner expresses a point of view about sexual orientation or race that isn't in line with moderate America's expectations, we're quick to dismiss that person as an ignorant, backwoods hick.
It's more complicated than that.
Maybe it's because of Nelson Mandela's recent passing that I'm stepping back and taking the longer view on what Phil Robertson said in light of his life experience and mine. Here's my life experience.
I lived in Mississippi for a year. What I learned living there is that even if Southern or rural Southern whites believe that the Bible forbids what you're doing or how you're living, that doesn't necessarily mean that they hate you or that they would mistreat you. My experience is that there is a Southern code of conduct, so to speak; I would call it "The Right Thing To Do": -- No matter what people might think of you or what you do, unless they're rabid racists, they're going to treat you with respect and human kindness just as they would want to be treated. The culture of respect runs deep in Southern culture. My mental litmus test for anyone, including Phil Robertson, is, "Would this person help me if I were stranded on the side of the road with a flat tire?" Trust me, you're more likely to be helped by a Southerner of any race than a Californian. Southerners of any race help strangers simply because it's The Right Thing To Do. I watch "Duck Dynasty," and although I've never met Phil Robertson, I think he would pass my litmus test.
There are a lot of Christians of all races who believe that homosexuality is a sin. That doesn't mean they hate gay people or would harm them. I don't recall there being this much of a dust-up when, on "R&B Divas," the singer Monifah, who came out, asked her daughter if she could support Monifah's union with her partner Terez. Her daughter said, "No, no I can't." It was a matter of faith, not hate, for her. It didn't mean that she loved her mother less; it simply meant that, as a matter of faith, she could not encourage a gay union. Good Christians are perfectly capable of hating the sin (or at least what they consider sin) and loving the sinner. They need to be because we're all sinners.
Finally, I think we have to look at context and life experience when taking the measure of someone. Phil Robertson's remarks about black people were based on his life experience, which I hazard to guess is rather limited. I doubt that black folks picking cotton with him back in the day could tell him how they truly felt about their lives and experiences. Just as we black folks today can't necessarily share all our feelings at work lest we be branded as radical or angry, I'd be willing to bet that the happy temperament of black folks that Phil Robertson experienced while picking cotton with them was the part of their feelings that was safe to share with whites during that time. That is what he experienced. The implication of his statement that this state of black affairs was "pre-welfare" and "pre-entitlement," although misguided and ill-informed, doesn't appear to me to be an expression of hate. Maybe I'm naïve.
I watch "Duck Dynasty," and I think many people who are quick to criticize Phil Robertson have never seen the show. I enjoy the show. The reason I enjoy it is because, like Tyler Perry's "Madea" movies, there's always a moral to each episode. I like that they are family that hasn't let wealth change them, they stick together, and they have all the same characters and problems that all families have: A crazy but loving uncle (Uncle Si); a patriarch (Phil Robertson) who, like many Southern patriarchs, is really ruled by the matriarch of the family (Miss Kay); and adult sibling rivalry (Jase and Willie). They end each episode at the dinner table saying grace and thanking the Lord for their blessings, like many families of all races do daily across the South. They truly appear to love one another, and it's clear that Phil Robertson loves his family deeply. What I don't see on the show, and what I've never seen, is hate.
I have advanced degrees from two Ivy League institutions, and I have lived all around this country. If you asked me to bet whether one of my "to the manor born" white Harvard classmates or white trash (his words) Phil Robertson would be most likely to help me if I were stranded by the side of the road, I'd pick Phil Robertson every time. He'd do it because, as a Southerner, he knows it would be The Right Thing To Do.
It's more complicated than that.
Maybe it's because of Nelson Mandela's recent passing that I'm stepping back and taking the longer view on what Phil Robertson said in light of his life experience and mine. Here's my life experience.
I lived in Mississippi for a year. What I learned living there is that even if Southern or rural Southern whites believe that the Bible forbids what you're doing or how you're living, that doesn't necessarily mean that they hate you or that they would mistreat you. My experience is that there is a Southern code of conduct, so to speak; I would call it "The Right Thing To Do": -- No matter what people might think of you or what you do, unless they're rabid racists, they're going to treat you with respect and human kindness just as they would want to be treated. The culture of respect runs deep in Southern culture. My mental litmus test for anyone, including Phil Robertson, is, "Would this person help me if I were stranded on the side of the road with a flat tire?" Trust me, you're more likely to be helped by a Southerner of any race than a Californian. Southerners of any race help strangers simply because it's The Right Thing To Do. I watch "Duck Dynasty," and although I've never met Phil Robertson, I think he would pass my litmus test.
There are a lot of Christians of all races who believe that homosexuality is a sin. That doesn't mean they hate gay people or would harm them. I don't recall there being this much of a dust-up when, on "R&B Divas," the singer Monifah, who came out, asked her daughter if she could support Monifah's union with her partner Terez. Her daughter said, "No, no I can't." It was a matter of faith, not hate, for her. It didn't mean that she loved her mother less; it simply meant that, as a matter of faith, she could not encourage a gay union. Good Christians are perfectly capable of hating the sin (or at least what they consider sin) and loving the sinner. They need to be because we're all sinners.
Finally, I think we have to look at context and life experience when taking the measure of someone. Phil Robertson's remarks about black people were based on his life experience, which I hazard to guess is rather limited. I doubt that black folks picking cotton with him back in the day could tell him how they truly felt about their lives and experiences. Just as we black folks today can't necessarily share all our feelings at work lest we be branded as radical or angry, I'd be willing to bet that the happy temperament of black folks that Phil Robertson experienced while picking cotton with them was the part of their feelings that was safe to share with whites during that time. That is what he experienced. The implication of his statement that this state of black affairs was "pre-welfare" and "pre-entitlement," although misguided and ill-informed, doesn't appear to me to be an expression of hate. Maybe I'm naïve.
I watch "Duck Dynasty," and I think many people who are quick to criticize Phil Robertson have never seen the show. I enjoy the show. The reason I enjoy it is because, like Tyler Perry's "Madea" movies, there's always a moral to each episode. I like that they are family that hasn't let wealth change them, they stick together, and they have all the same characters and problems that all families have: A crazy but loving uncle (Uncle Si); a patriarch (Phil Robertson) who, like many Southern patriarchs, is really ruled by the matriarch of the family (Miss Kay); and adult sibling rivalry (Jase and Willie). They end each episode at the dinner table saying grace and thanking the Lord for their blessings, like many families of all races do daily across the South. They truly appear to love one another, and it's clear that Phil Robertson loves his family deeply. What I don't see on the show, and what I've never seen, is hate.
I have advanced degrees from two Ivy League institutions, and I have lived all around this country. If you asked me to bet whether one of my "to the manor born" white Harvard classmates or white trash (his words) Phil Robertson would be most likely to help me if I were stranded by the side of the road, I'd pick Phil Robertson every time. He'd do it because, as a Southerner, he knows it would be The Right Thing To Do.
Home Ownership Is Not "Acting White"
This blog entry is dedicated to Bob "Treebob" Williams, who gave Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) the gentle nudge to buy his first home. Rest in peace, Bob.
Sadly, there are many characteristics that my people write off as "acting white": Being intelligent, speaking English well, doing well in school, having good credit. But there's one that strikes fear in my heart for the next generation: Home ownership.
The Housing Bubble and the Great Recession resulted in lots of African-Americans losing their homes. Many of us have written off home ownership, thinking of the whole real estate market as being shady (and there's something to that; more on that later) and of home ownership as being beyond our reach and for white folks.
The reason this scares me is that the gains we as African-Americans made in home ownership in the late '90's and early 2000's won't be regained if we as a people simply write off home ownership. Why does it matter? Because a home is the largest intergenerational wealth transfer that most people make. Because home ownership often sets the stage for paying for a child's education. Because home ownership can be part of the portfolio of assets that pay for retirement.
Watching us turn away from home ownership reminds me of an episode of "Sex in the City" when Carrie Bradshaw receives notice that her apartment building is going co-op. She's been given the opportunity to buy her apartment. One would think that Carrie, with her love of Manolos and all things luxe, wouldn't sweat buying her apartment. She does, though, because she can't afford it. So she writes off home ownership until, over lunch with Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte, she discovers that they are all home owners. The vulnerability that Carrie felt -- that she could be out on the street at the whim of her landlord -- was palpable. In the end, Charlotte sells her wedding ring to loan Carrie the down payment on her apartment.
Home buying doesn't normally occur this way for black folks. That doesn't make it any less important.
The reason why I harp on this so much is that I wonder, "What will average African-Americans have to hand down to their children if they don't buy homes?" True, you will, on average, experience a higher rate of return from investing in stocks than in investing in real estate. And I don't consider home ownership to be a true "investment." But home ownership doesn't require the same level of expertise required to pick stocks, and it is highly subsidized by the government because of the mortgage interest deduction, and even more so if you are a veteran and qualify for veterans' home loans. You have to live somewhere -- why not own what you live in?
I'm not concerned about the wealth gap between African-Americans and whites for wealth's sake. I'm concerned about it because wealth means freedom. The more money you have, the more choices you can make about your life -- whether to go to college, where to live, what to do for a living. The ability to transfer wealth between generations is the basis for that economic freedom. Home ownership is part of the wealth transfer.
Yes, the Housing Bubble housing market was shady. Yes, Wells Fargo, Bank of America and other financial institutions conspired to put African-Americans in subprime loans. Yes, we need to be smarter the next time around. But you don't throw out home ownership entirely because you got burned. It's not about you. It's about the generations to come behind you.
Home ownership starts with an intention. The intention leads to a plan -- improving your credit, saving your money, having a stable job. It requires sacrifice -- fewer shoes, fewer Xboxes and flat screen TVs, more savings. And it may require flexibility -- if you live in a high cost area, you might have to buy somewhere more affordable -- like Texas. Instead of a house, you might have to start out with a condo. Instead of new construction, you might have to start with a fixer-upper and watch home improvement shows and how-to videos on YouTube. You might have to buy your house with other relatives, maybe with two or more families. You might have to buy in a not-so-great neighborhood and convert your local school into a charter school. But over time, the appreciation in value that normally occurs with home ownership (Real Estate Bubble notwithstanding) will inure to your benefit and the benefit of your children and their children.
What scares me now is that there are real estate investment firms that are buying up unfinished lots and building new homes solely for the purpose of renting them.
Not selling them. Renting them.
This phenomenon is playing itself out in Atlanta, and it looks like it's targeted toward African-Americans who want to live in a new house and can't afford to buy where they want to live. It's like real estate crack -- once you get that high of living in a brand new home that you rent, you're not willing to make the long-term sacrifice to buy a home that you can actually afford and trade up later. It's like trading off long-term financial benefit for short-term real estate euphoria. And we're falling for this real estate okey-doke yet again.
People, let's not fall for this again. The only thing renting a house does is make the owner of that house richer.
And, for the record, home ownership is not acting white. My parents owned their home. My uncles and aunts owned their homes. My grandparents owned their homes.
Wouldn't it be a shame if the pre-civil rights, "Jim Crow" generation of African-Americans transferred more wealth to us through home ownership than we transfer to the generations following us?
Sadly, there are many characteristics that my people write off as "acting white": Being intelligent, speaking English well, doing well in school, having good credit. But there's one that strikes fear in my heart for the next generation: Home ownership.
The Housing Bubble and the Great Recession resulted in lots of African-Americans losing their homes. Many of us have written off home ownership, thinking of the whole real estate market as being shady (and there's something to that; more on that later) and of home ownership as being beyond our reach and for white folks.
The reason this scares me is that the gains we as African-Americans made in home ownership in the late '90's and early 2000's won't be regained if we as a people simply write off home ownership. Why does it matter? Because a home is the largest intergenerational wealth transfer that most people make. Because home ownership often sets the stage for paying for a child's education. Because home ownership can be part of the portfolio of assets that pay for retirement.
Watching us turn away from home ownership reminds me of an episode of "Sex in the City" when Carrie Bradshaw receives notice that her apartment building is going co-op. She's been given the opportunity to buy her apartment. One would think that Carrie, with her love of Manolos and all things luxe, wouldn't sweat buying her apartment. She does, though, because she can't afford it. So she writes off home ownership until, over lunch with Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte, she discovers that they are all home owners. The vulnerability that Carrie felt -- that she could be out on the street at the whim of her landlord -- was palpable. In the end, Charlotte sells her wedding ring to loan Carrie the down payment on her apartment.
Home buying doesn't normally occur this way for black folks. That doesn't make it any less important.
The reason why I harp on this so much is that I wonder, "What will average African-Americans have to hand down to their children if they don't buy homes?" True, you will, on average, experience a higher rate of return from investing in stocks than in investing in real estate. And I don't consider home ownership to be a true "investment." But home ownership doesn't require the same level of expertise required to pick stocks, and it is highly subsidized by the government because of the mortgage interest deduction, and even more so if you are a veteran and qualify for veterans' home loans. You have to live somewhere -- why not own what you live in?
I'm not concerned about the wealth gap between African-Americans and whites for wealth's sake. I'm concerned about it because wealth means freedom. The more money you have, the more choices you can make about your life -- whether to go to college, where to live, what to do for a living. The ability to transfer wealth between generations is the basis for that economic freedom. Home ownership is part of the wealth transfer.
Yes, the Housing Bubble housing market was shady. Yes, Wells Fargo, Bank of America and other financial institutions conspired to put African-Americans in subprime loans. Yes, we need to be smarter the next time around. But you don't throw out home ownership entirely because you got burned. It's not about you. It's about the generations to come behind you.
Home ownership starts with an intention. The intention leads to a plan -- improving your credit, saving your money, having a stable job. It requires sacrifice -- fewer shoes, fewer Xboxes and flat screen TVs, more savings. And it may require flexibility -- if you live in a high cost area, you might have to buy somewhere more affordable -- like Texas. Instead of a house, you might have to start out with a condo. Instead of new construction, you might have to start with a fixer-upper and watch home improvement shows and how-to videos on YouTube. You might have to buy your house with other relatives, maybe with two or more families. You might have to buy in a not-so-great neighborhood and convert your local school into a charter school. But over time, the appreciation in value that normally occurs with home ownership (Real Estate Bubble notwithstanding) will inure to your benefit and the benefit of your children and their children.
What scares me now is that there are real estate investment firms that are buying up unfinished lots and building new homes solely for the purpose of renting them.
Not selling them. Renting them.
This phenomenon is playing itself out in Atlanta, and it looks like it's targeted toward African-Americans who want to live in a new house and can't afford to buy where they want to live. It's like real estate crack -- once you get that high of living in a brand new home that you rent, you're not willing to make the long-term sacrifice to buy a home that you can actually afford and trade up later. It's like trading off long-term financial benefit for short-term real estate euphoria. And we're falling for this real estate okey-doke yet again.
People, let's not fall for this again. The only thing renting a house does is make the owner of that house richer.
And, for the record, home ownership is not acting white. My parents owned their home. My uncles and aunts owned their homes. My grandparents owned their homes.
Wouldn't it be a shame if the pre-civil rights, "Jim Crow" generation of African-Americans transferred more wealth to us through home ownership than we transfer to the generations following us?
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