We're on Day 14 of the government shutdown, all because Speaker Boehner and Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell don't know how to keep their party in check. There's a lot that the GOP could learn from a P-I-M-P. Hell, there's a lot they could have learned from Nancy Pelosi, who still keeps her party in check without benefit or need of the title of Speaker.
Mind you, I've written admiringly about pimps before, not because I respect what they do, but because I respect their ability to get something so morally bankrupt done with minimal (or minimized) transaction costs. If pimps (well, real pimps, not government pimps) were running the GOP, Senator Ted Cruz' idiot idea of shutting down the government until Obamacare was defunded would not have gotten far. (And kudos to Bob Schieffer for repeatedly asking how the GOP let Ted Cruz get this far. As far as I'm concerned, Bob Schieffer is the only thinking journalist on the Sunday morning talk show circuit.)
You see, pimpin' runs on rules and hierarchy that maintain smooth relations (and pardon the language -- it's the language of pimpin', not mine). Rule: A bitch can't look a pimp in the eye. Rule: When a pimp is walking on the sidewalk, a bitch gets off of it. Rule: A bitch can't talk to pimps other than her own. Rule: A pimp's bottom bitch has seniority and priority over the pimp's other bitches.
If seniority and hierarchy account for anything, and analogizing to pimpin', how is it that Senator Ted Cruz, who is, shall we say, "new to the game," able to lead a cabal of new bitches to shut down the government without the pimps (party leaders) keeping them in check? At the very least, no government shutdown formed in Congress should have gone off without the say-so of Speaker Boehner and Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell, as well as the say-so of more senior pimps, uh, leaders, like Senator John McCain (Mack of the Year, 2008). Even if the party leaders agreed with it, they, and not the Tea Party bitches new to the game, should have been leading the shutdown and deciding what terms would lead to the government's reopening, not the other way around. GOP, where are your rules? Where is your hierarchy? Where is your pimp game?
If Senator Cruz were a bitch, he'd be considered "out of pocket." The other pimps would have had permission to beat him for being "out of pocket" and leading the other bitches astray.
I guess the GOP's senior pimps, uh, leaders, have absolutely no pimp game whatsoever and definitely less than Nancy Pelosi. Imagine that.
Could someone from the GOP call Too Short so we can get the government running again?
Oh, and Speaker Boehner, the first rule of pimpin'? Don't love them bitches. Just sayin'.
Dear Mr. President: Don't Blink, But Do Fart On Their Heads
Dear Mr. President,
When boys wrestle, especially brothers, the ultimate in victory is for the winning boy to not only sit on head of the defeated boy, but to fart on his head as well. In families, it's usually the older brother who ends up sitting and farting on the head of his younger brother as a deterrent to future challenges. Mr. President, you didn't grow up with brothers, but there's a lesson to be learned from the wrestling of boys.
But first, Mr. President, I have a message for you from my sister regarding this standoff with congressional Republicans: Don't blink.
In this standoff/government shutdown, there's far more at stake than just a budget or the debt ceiling. As you've so aptly put it, what is at stake is the ability to govern without being forced into false crises created by a small contingent of Republicans who are out of step with the majority of the nation. So my sister's advice to you, Mr. President, is to continue to stand toe-to-toe with them and don't even think about blinking. Don't flinch. Stand your ground. Which leads to a message from me:
Don't just sit on their heads; fart on their heads.
I, like so many other Americans, am so weary of Tea Party efforts to derail the Affordable Care Act, also known as "Obamacare." It's the law. They need to get over it and move on. The rest of the country has. Given that many of these representatives represent broke-ass states with people who desperately need health care (and could stand to back away from the fast food joints and processed foods in general) but fear anything with the word "Obama" in it, they ought to just move on. But shutting down the government and threatening the first U.S. government default ever? Now that deserves not just sitting on their heads, but farting on them, too.
The Republicans know they have backed themselves into a corner and are looking for a way out. They know that, the longer this goes on, the more dim their hopes become of recapturing the White House in 2016. They know all of this, but like a little brother wrestling his older, bigger brother, they don't know how to get out of this political headlock that will eventually lead to the political equivalent of you not just sitting on their heads, but farting on them as well.
When they capitulate, and they will, Mr. President, take that victory lap. Do whatever is the political equivalent of sitting and farting on their heads so they will think twice about pulling this stunt again.
Don't blink, Mr. President. But do fart on their heads, so to speak.
Sincerely,
Black Woman Blogging
When boys wrestle, especially brothers, the ultimate in victory is for the winning boy to not only sit on head of the defeated boy, but to fart on his head as well. In families, it's usually the older brother who ends up sitting and farting on the head of his younger brother as a deterrent to future challenges. Mr. President, you didn't grow up with brothers, but there's a lesson to be learned from the wrestling of boys.
But first, Mr. President, I have a message for you from my sister regarding this standoff with congressional Republicans: Don't blink.
In this standoff/government shutdown, there's far more at stake than just a budget or the debt ceiling. As you've so aptly put it, what is at stake is the ability to govern without being forced into false crises created by a small contingent of Republicans who are out of step with the majority of the nation. So my sister's advice to you, Mr. President, is to continue to stand toe-to-toe with them and don't even think about blinking. Don't flinch. Stand your ground. Which leads to a message from me:
Don't just sit on their heads; fart on their heads.
I, like so many other Americans, am so weary of Tea Party efforts to derail the Affordable Care Act, also known as "Obamacare." It's the law. They need to get over it and move on. The rest of the country has. Given that many of these representatives represent broke-ass states with people who desperately need health care (and could stand to back away from the fast food joints and processed foods in general) but fear anything with the word "Obama" in it, they ought to just move on. But shutting down the government and threatening the first U.S. government default ever? Now that deserves not just sitting on their heads, but farting on them, too.
The Republicans know they have backed themselves into a corner and are looking for a way out. They know that, the longer this goes on, the more dim their hopes become of recapturing the White House in 2016. They know all of this, but like a little brother wrestling his older, bigger brother, they don't know how to get out of this political headlock that will eventually lead to the political equivalent of you not just sitting on their heads, but farting on them as well.
When they capitulate, and they will, Mr. President, take that victory lap. Do whatever is the political equivalent of sitting and farting on their heads so they will think twice about pulling this stunt again.
Don't blink, Mr. President. But do fart on their heads, so to speak.
Sincerely,
Black Woman Blogging
The Hardest Part of Getting Old (The Stuff of Elders)
I'm 50. It's safe to say that there are probably more days behind me than ahead of me and I am now an "elder" of my family. The hardest part of getting old for anyone in my position is that, in these remaining days, you will be called upon to do the most difficult things, things you would not have been called upon to do as a child or even a young adult, if lucky, because they are the stuff of elders, and rightly so.
Most of the usual complaints about aging relate to health and body change -- diminishing eyesight and hearing, stiffness in one's bones, graying hair. But all the while your body is changing and your faculties are diminishing, you will be called upon to do difficult things and, because of your stature as an elder, you will be expected to do those things with grace and magnanimity, and without showing grief or any self-indulgent displays of emotion.
You will be called upon to walk with loved ones who are older than you on their journey as they battle life-threatening disease -- cancer, Alzheimer's, you name it -- without showing the deeply-held fears you have about what those battles hold for them.
You will be called upon to make medical decisions for others that are literally the difference between prolonging a life no longer worth living and releasing them to God.
You will be called upon to decide when a suffering pet must die and be responsible for making that death occur.
You will be called upon to tell a elder in ill health that he can no longer drive, live by himself, or even continue to live in his own home anymore.
You will be called upon to console a grieving child facing the death of a loved one for the first time.
You will be called upon to bury your parents.
You will be called upon to radically change your life to ease the oncoming end of someone else's.
You will be called upon to change the adult diapers of your beloved elders without looking uncomfortable or inconvenienced and with a look of love on your face.
You will be called upon to give hope in the most hopeless of situations.
All of these things you will be called upon to do, all the while calling upon all the faith and home training your parents and elders instilled in you. You won't think you can bear to do any of these things.
But you can. And you will. Because, as an elder, you're stronger than you know.
At least that's what I keep telling myself.
Most of the usual complaints about aging relate to health and body change -- diminishing eyesight and hearing, stiffness in one's bones, graying hair. But all the while your body is changing and your faculties are diminishing, you will be called upon to do difficult things and, because of your stature as an elder, you will be expected to do those things with grace and magnanimity, and without showing grief or any self-indulgent displays of emotion.
You will be called upon to walk with loved ones who are older than you on their journey as they battle life-threatening disease -- cancer, Alzheimer's, you name it -- without showing the deeply-held fears you have about what those battles hold for them.
You will be called upon to make medical decisions for others that are literally the difference between prolonging a life no longer worth living and releasing them to God.
You will be called upon to decide when a suffering pet must die and be responsible for making that death occur.
You will be called upon to tell a elder in ill health that he can no longer drive, live by himself, or even continue to live in his own home anymore.
You will be called upon to console a grieving child facing the death of a loved one for the first time.
You will be called upon to bury your parents.
You will be called upon to radically change your life to ease the oncoming end of someone else's.
You will be called upon to change the adult diapers of your beloved elders without looking uncomfortable or inconvenienced and with a look of love on your face.
You will be called upon to give hope in the most hopeless of situations.
All of these things you will be called upon to do, all the while calling upon all the faith and home training your parents and elders instilled in you. You won't think you can bear to do any of these things.
But you can. And you will. Because, as an elder, you're stronger than you know.
At least that's what I keep telling myself.
Until The Lions Have Their Own Historians (Trayvon Martin On My Mind)
Until the lions have their own historians, the history of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.
~ African proverb
I've been staying silent on the George Zimmerman trial. But really, why are we calling it the "George Zimmerman trial" when in fact Trayvon Martin's on trial, and he's dead? Just as in the African proverb, George Zimmerman, the hunter, is being glorified enough to be acquitted. I understand the difficulty of the prosecution's task -- disproving Zimmerman's self-defense claim beyond a reasonable doubt in a state that has a "stand your ground" law. It would be the height of irony and cruelty if the "stand your ground" law allows you to stand your ground and defend yourself against a confrontation that, but for your own actions, would never have happened, especially since it involved a teenage boy.
I feel so much for Trayvon's parents. I've seen this movie before. My family has its own George Zimmerman. His name is Christopher Allen Smith, he is white, and he killed my cousin Gidd Robinson in broad daylight in front of his kids. But for Gidd's mother, Gidd's fiancé, and our huge extended family banding together and putting pressure on the Yolo County District Attorney's Office to prosecute, Christopher Allen Smith would have gotten away with it. Like George Zimmerman, Christopher Allen Smith was in his vehicle at the time the events leading to a homicide occurred and could have driven away. Like George Zimmerman, Christopher Allen Smith decided to confront someone because he didn't like what he saw. Unlike George Zimmerman, Christopher Allen Smith stayed in his truck and, shooting across the passenger seat and his own child, shot my cousin, who was walking his daughter to school, because my cousin allegedly flipped him off.
In the case of my cousin, the story as my family understood it was that he was walking his young daughter to school, and Christopher Allen Smith was speeding down the street. My cousin yelled at him to slow down because there were children out. Instead of going on, Christopher Allen Smith turned his truck around, got into a yelling match with my cousin, and, allegedly thinking my cousin had a gun, reached over the passenger side of his truck and across his own seven year-old son and shot my cousin. Then he sped off, dumped the gun in the river, and rubbed his hands in mud to get rid of the gunshot residue.
Just like Trayvon Martin's murder, the case made no sense. Initially, the Yolo County District Attorney's Office didn't want to prosecute because they believed my cousin, who did have a criminal record, had a gun that he had thrown in the bushes or disposed of in some way, although searchers never turned up a gun. Then they didn't think they could prove that it was unreasonable for Christopher Allen Smith to believe that my cousin had a gun, in other words, that his claim of self-defense was imperfect and would support a murder charge.
But it didn't make sense.
My sister argued in a meeting with the Yolo County D.A.'s attorneys and staff, "It doesn't make sense. If Christopher Allen Smith was in the driver's seat of his truck, and the passenger side was closest to the sidewalk where my cousin was, and if he thought my cousin had a gun, why didn't he just hit the gas and drive away?" We all reasoned that in the time it would have taken him to reach in his glove compartment, pull out a gun, and shoot across his own child to repel some supposed threat, he could have hit the gas and taken his child to safety. What person shoots a gun across his own child when he can more easily flee to safety? And what person who has just been shot in the chest area is able to dispose of a gun or is even thinking of disposing of a gun? It just didn't make sense. Until the time that our extended family (which is huge) started meeting with the Yolo County D.A.'s office, the focus was on my cousin's criminal background and their belief that they could not prove imperfect self defense., i.e., that Christopher Allen Smith's belief that my cousin had a gun was unreasonable. And they had no murder weapon.
It took Gidd's mom and Gidd's fiance, both of whom were strong like Trayvon's parents, and my huge extended family, including Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) grilling the Yolo County assistant district attorneys and investigators as to why this wasn't being charged as a hate crime and why the FBI had not been involved, to eventually get the FBI involved. My understanding is that the FBI eventually found the murder weapon, and the Yolo County D.A.'s investigators found the evidence needed to show that Christopher Allen Smith frequented white supremacist websites and had an arsenal of illegal guns. If it hadn't been for Gidd's mom and his fiancé standing up, relentlessly pursuing justice, and getting the extended family involved in two meetings with the Yolo County D.A.'s office in which we relentlessly questioned them about the evidence, I doubt that Christopher Allen Smith would have been prosecuted, despite his highly implausible claim of self defense.
So as I watch snippets of the Trayvon Martin trial -- I can't bear to watch the defense not only make a mockery of Travyon's murder but make a mockery of the criminal justice system by starting a murder trial with a knock-knock joke -- who does that? -- I am reminded that justice isn't blind. I am reminded that, when it comes down to a racist's claim of self defense in killing a person of color, unless the victim has his own "historians," the murderer gets to glorify his claim of self-defense. I am angered that this trial has come down to whether a scared teenager attacked someone who was following him when that follower was clearly instructed by a 911 operator not to confront the teenager and was not in danger at the time he decided to follow the teenager. I am angered by the defense stating that Trayvon inserted race into the matter by calling Zimmerman "a creepy cracker." I am angered at the prospect of someone creating a situation where they can confront someone for no reason and, when the situation turns to their disadvantage, they can "stand their ground" and shoot the person they confronted without reason. I am angered that the defense called for four minutes of silence and said, "That's how long Trayvon had to run," as if running would have saved his life. This history of black men getting shot in the back for running in this country is long and sordid.
Other than the young woman who was on the phone with Trayvon, Trayvon doesn't have a "historian" to tell his side, allowing the Zimmerman defense team to glorify the hunter, George Zimmerman.
If both Christopher Allen Smith and George Zimmerman had simply driven away, two people would be alive today.
I'm not hopeful for a conviction in this case, and I'm sad for Trayvon's parents because, no matter what, they'll never see their son again. There is a twist to all this if Zimmerman is acquitted, as BMNB put it: "If he gets off, he'll be about as safe in America as Trayvon was."
The hunter may well indeed become the lion. Better have his own historian.
For more on the murder of my cousin, visit here.
Affirmative Action in Higher Ed Admissions Still Holds for Now, But Don't Get Too Excited . . . . (Fisher v. University of Texas at Austin)
I have to admit it -- I've been more interested in the U.S. Supreme Court's upcoming decisions on same-sex marriage and DOMA than I have been in the affirmative action in higher education case decided today, Fisher v. University of Texas at Austin. When it comes to affirmative action in higher education, I guess I'm just battle weary. I fully expect that, like the T-Rex testing the electric fence in "Jurassic Park," the opponents of affirmative action will, at some point, happen upon a persuasive theory and a receptive Supreme Court majority and do away with affirmative action. I'm way past holding my breath each time an affirmative action in higher education case reaches the Supreme Court.
As you can imagine, I was pleasantly surprised that the Supreme Court didn't strike down affirmative action in higher education in its entirety. This case came to the Supreme Court as a result of summary judgment solely on the issue whether the consideration of race in admissions violated the Equal Protection Clause. The Court tacitly upheld the proposition of diversity as a compelling state interest in higher education as part of a university's education mission, which was posited by the late Justice Powell in Bakke v. University of California. The inroad, if any, made by plaintiff Abigail Fisher was that the Supreme Court held that the courts below failed to subject the University of Texas' consideration of race to strict scrutiny to determine whether it was narrowly tailored enough to achieve the diversity objective, i.e., whether any other approaches that don't involve the consideration of race could also achieve the diversity the University of Texas was seeking. The case was remanded to the lower court for that more searching inquiry into the University of Texas' admissions program.
Proponents of affirmative action believe they've dodged a bullet.
I say don't get too excited.
Writing for the majority, Justice (and Sacramento homie) Anthony Kennedy pointed out one very important thing: The parties did not ask the Court to consider whether diversity in higher education is still a compelling state interest that would survive the strict scrutiny analysis used when the government bases a decision in whole or in part on race. Justice Kennedy noted that the District Court and the Court of Appeals were correct in finding that Grutter v. Bollinger called for courts' "deference" to a university's judgment that diversity is essential to its educational mission.
Them Justice Kennedy pointed out the way for the next challenge: "But the parties here do not ask the Court to revisit that aspect of Grutter's holding."
And that is precisely why the proponents of affirmative action should not get too excited.
The next challenge to affirmative action cannot succeed, IMHO, without taking down diversity as a compelling state interest in higher education. Justice Kennedy has pointed out the theory - revisiting "that aspect of Grutter's holding" that a university's judgment that diversity is essential to its educational mission is due deference by the courts. The only remaining hurdles are a receptive Supreme Court majority and some disgruntled applicant who thinks that some minority applicant "took" an admissions spot he thinks he should have had.
Maybe I'm just too battle weary and cynical when it comes to affirmative action in higher education. I can't help but think that the end of affirmative action in higher education will happen in my lifetime and we might as well get prepared for it.
I hope I'm wrong.
As you can imagine, I was pleasantly surprised that the Supreme Court didn't strike down affirmative action in higher education in its entirety. This case came to the Supreme Court as a result of summary judgment solely on the issue whether the consideration of race in admissions violated the Equal Protection Clause. The Court tacitly upheld the proposition of diversity as a compelling state interest in higher education as part of a university's education mission, which was posited by the late Justice Powell in Bakke v. University of California. The inroad, if any, made by plaintiff Abigail Fisher was that the Supreme Court held that the courts below failed to subject the University of Texas' consideration of race to strict scrutiny to determine whether it was narrowly tailored enough to achieve the diversity objective, i.e., whether any other approaches that don't involve the consideration of race could also achieve the diversity the University of Texas was seeking. The case was remanded to the lower court for that more searching inquiry into the University of Texas' admissions program.
Proponents of affirmative action believe they've dodged a bullet.
I say don't get too excited.
Writing for the majority, Justice (and Sacramento homie) Anthony Kennedy pointed out one very important thing: The parties did not ask the Court to consider whether diversity in higher education is still a compelling state interest that would survive the strict scrutiny analysis used when the government bases a decision in whole or in part on race. Justice Kennedy noted that the District Court and the Court of Appeals were correct in finding that Grutter v. Bollinger called for courts' "deference" to a university's judgment that diversity is essential to its educational mission.
Them Justice Kennedy pointed out the way for the next challenge: "But the parties here do not ask the Court to revisit that aspect of Grutter's holding."
And that is precisely why the proponents of affirmative action should not get too excited.
The next challenge to affirmative action cannot succeed, IMHO, without taking down diversity as a compelling state interest in higher education. Justice Kennedy has pointed out the theory - revisiting "that aspect of Grutter's holding" that a university's judgment that diversity is essential to its educational mission is due deference by the courts. The only remaining hurdles are a receptive Supreme Court majority and some disgruntled applicant who thinks that some minority applicant "took" an admissions spot he thinks he should have had.
Maybe I'm just too battle weary and cynical when it comes to affirmative action in higher education. I can't help but think that the end of affirmative action in higher education will happen in my lifetime and we might as well get prepared for it.
I hope I'm wrong.
If We Could Forgive George Wallace . . . . (A Conversation with Black Folks About Paula Deen)
Hi Black Folks,
Can we talk about Paula Deen? Quite frankly, the question of forgiving Paula Deen for using the N-word in the past is, IMHO, a conversation that needs to reside within the black community since that word is used to demean us and strip us of our humanity. So for all of my non-white readers, please excuse us while we black folks have a conversation about forgiving Paula Deen.
Oh, and for those of you black folks who routinely use the N-word -- rappers and the like -- you're excused from the conversation. As far as I'm concerned, you're part of the problem. I don't take a "do as I say, not as I do" attitude towards the N-word. To my mind, there is no acceptable use of the word. So, as far as I'm concerned, you have no place in this conversation, either.
Now, down to brass tacks. First, I'll admit my bias. I'm a Paula Deen fan. I like her wit, her charm, her grit, her backstory of overcoming adversity and taking her greatest talent and making something of it.
I also adore her Grandmother Paul's Sour Cream Pound Cake recipe. More on that later.
For now, the question we black folks "for true," to borrow a turn of phrase from our elders, should ask ourselves is this: If we could forgive George Wallace, can we (or why can't we) forgive Paula Deen?
Mind you, racism is racism. Governor George Wallace standing in the door of the University of Alabama stating, "Segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever," was as about as in-your-face with racism as one could get. Yet, black folks forgave him and voted him back into office. I've said it time and again -- we black folks are the most forgiving people on the planet. We have to be given that we live side-by-side with the very folks who fomented our mistreatment. George Wallace's political second act is a testament to black forgiveness.
That said, insidious racism on the down-low -- the kind Paula Deen is alleged to have practiced -- is the worst because it's shielded. It's like being attacked from an unexpected source, especially one whose image is that of home cookin' and Southern hospitality. Not white hospitality, Southern hospitality. Anyone who's ever lived in the South knows there are no more hospitable people on the planet than Southerners of any race.
We as black folks can't answer the question whether we should forgive Paula Deen until we're sure what we're forgiving her for. In her deposition, Paula Deen admitted under oath to using the N-word in the past. She did not admit to using it in the manner alleged in the racial discrimination lawsuit against her -- her description of black men who were to serve as waiters at her brother's wedding using the N-word. If indeed she did use the N-word as alleged in the lawsuit, perhaps she does not merit forgiveness because she hasn't really come to terms with her racism. For me, forgiveness isn't just about what you did, but whether you have the potential to learn from it and not do it again. Perhaps that's why black folks in Alabama forgave George Wallace -- the perception that he learned from his mistake and had the potential not to make the same mistake again.
My fervent hope is that Paula Deen isn't the racist she's portrayed to be and, if she is, she'll come clean about it, settle the lawsuit, and use this mistake as an opportunity to confront her racism and educate other whites who are racist about theirs. If she does, she will be worthy of forgiveness.
And if she is forgiven by us black folks, I hope she'll stick to cooking. I've made a lot of pound cakes in my life and tried a lot of recipes, including my owner mother's, and no pound cake I've ever tried, whether from a bakery or a home cook, comes close to Paula Deen's Grandmother Paul's Sour Cream Pound cake. I've taken that pound cake to family outings and had it literally snatched off the table along with the plate it arrived on. It's THAT good.
In a perfect world, Paula Deen would go on Oprah's Next Chapter, admit all the times she's used the N-word, get forgiven by Oprah, and OWN would pick up her cooking shows, putting Deen in the curious position of having her ass saved by a black woman -- a Southern black woman, no less.
Should black folks forgive Paula Deen? Time will tell. In the meantime, download that pound cake recipe before the Food Network takes it off their website and make one while you think about forgiving her.
Can we talk about Paula Deen? Quite frankly, the question of forgiving Paula Deen for using the N-word in the past is, IMHO, a conversation that needs to reside within the black community since that word is used to demean us and strip us of our humanity. So for all of my non-white readers, please excuse us while we black folks have a conversation about forgiving Paula Deen.
Oh, and for those of you black folks who routinely use the N-word -- rappers and the like -- you're excused from the conversation. As far as I'm concerned, you're part of the problem. I don't take a "do as I say, not as I do" attitude towards the N-word. To my mind, there is no acceptable use of the word. So, as far as I'm concerned, you have no place in this conversation, either.
Now, down to brass tacks. First, I'll admit my bias. I'm a Paula Deen fan. I like her wit, her charm, her grit, her backstory of overcoming adversity and taking her greatest talent and making something of it.
I also adore her Grandmother Paul's Sour Cream Pound Cake recipe. More on that later.
For now, the question we black folks "for true," to borrow a turn of phrase from our elders, should ask ourselves is this: If we could forgive George Wallace, can we (or why can't we) forgive Paula Deen?
Mind you, racism is racism. Governor George Wallace standing in the door of the University of Alabama stating, "Segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever," was as about as in-your-face with racism as one could get. Yet, black folks forgave him and voted him back into office. I've said it time and again -- we black folks are the most forgiving people on the planet. We have to be given that we live side-by-side with the very folks who fomented our mistreatment. George Wallace's political second act is a testament to black forgiveness.
That said, insidious racism on the down-low -- the kind Paula Deen is alleged to have practiced -- is the worst because it's shielded. It's like being attacked from an unexpected source, especially one whose image is that of home cookin' and Southern hospitality. Not white hospitality, Southern hospitality. Anyone who's ever lived in the South knows there are no more hospitable people on the planet than Southerners of any race.
We as black folks can't answer the question whether we should forgive Paula Deen until we're sure what we're forgiving her for. In her deposition, Paula Deen admitted under oath to using the N-word in the past. She did not admit to using it in the manner alleged in the racial discrimination lawsuit against her -- her description of black men who were to serve as waiters at her brother's wedding using the N-word. If indeed she did use the N-word as alleged in the lawsuit, perhaps she does not merit forgiveness because she hasn't really come to terms with her racism. For me, forgiveness isn't just about what you did, but whether you have the potential to learn from it and not do it again. Perhaps that's why black folks in Alabama forgave George Wallace -- the perception that he learned from his mistake and had the potential not to make the same mistake again.
My fervent hope is that Paula Deen isn't the racist she's portrayed to be and, if she is, she'll come clean about it, settle the lawsuit, and use this mistake as an opportunity to confront her racism and educate other whites who are racist about theirs. If she does, she will be worthy of forgiveness.
And if she is forgiven by us black folks, I hope she'll stick to cooking. I've made a lot of pound cakes in my life and tried a lot of recipes, including my owner mother's, and no pound cake I've ever tried, whether from a bakery or a home cook, comes close to Paula Deen's Grandmother Paul's Sour Cream Pound cake. I've taken that pound cake to family outings and had it literally snatched off the table along with the plate it arrived on. It's THAT good.
In a perfect world, Paula Deen would go on Oprah's Next Chapter, admit all the times she's used the N-word, get forgiven by Oprah, and OWN would pick up her cooking shows, putting Deen in the curious position of having her ass saved by a black woman -- a Southern black woman, no less.
Should black folks forgive Paula Deen? Time will tell. In the meantime, download that pound cake recipe before the Food Network takes it off their website and make one while you think about forgiving her.
The Makena Monologues, Part I: The Power of Rejuvenation
*Note: This is the first in a series of entries I wrote in my journal at the Makena Beach and Golf Resort, Maui, Hawai'i. The occasion was the week of my 50th birthday and Black Man Not Blogging's (BMNB) and my 10th wedding anniversary.
May 25, 2013
The weeks leading up to our sojourn were stressful. I have been under the gun at work, being micromanaged and challenged, working crazy hours. BMNB was pretty much left on his own to take care of himself and his mom. I was doing well to shower and get to work. We also had some major financial decisions to make in short order that were stressing us both out.
My life was waaay out of balance. I think both our lives were. I kept saying over and over, "I just need everything to stop."
The only reason we went on this vacation we really couldn't afford was we both decided we could not let the demands and stresses of our lives make us not take time to mark our ten years together as a married couple and my 50th birthday. I was resolute that this would be a vacation when I was absolutely NOT going to be available to be reached by phone by my bosses as I had been the last time I went out of town for more than two days. BMNB was so resolute that my job would not interfere with our departure that he made a threat that was so out of character for him: "If your bosses even think about getting in the way of our vacation, I'ma come up on your job and act a fool."
Indeed.
It took a lot of late nights to clear my desk, but I did. And then something magical happened.
We landed in Maui.
There's something about landing at the Kahului Airport that, even with its hustle and bustle, takes your blood pressure down about twenty points. The open air design, the palm trees swaying in the breeze, the smell of the ocean and plumeria in the wind just relax you. Everyone here is either on vacation or lives here, so either way, they're happy.
After getting our rental car and grabbing a quick bite to eat, we arrived at our hotel. Our travel agent at Costco.com -- yes, Costco.com -- snagged us a free room upgrade on the highest floor with an ocean view. When I stepped out on the lanai and saw the beautiful grounds and the ocean, I got my wish.
Everything stopped. And that's exactly what I needed.
I don't know about you, but I grew up in a family that didn't take vacations. My dad didn't believe in them and, truth be told, he probably couldn't afford to take his brood of six kids on vacation anyway. I think my late mom, SWIE (She Who Is Exalted), longed to travel but just accepted her vacation-less fate as part and parcel of being married to my dad.
Even in the less than twenty-four hours we've been here, I can already feel the difference in my body. I'm rested. I'm calm. Everything has stopped.
Like BMNB always says, we're not machines. Vacations, and the rejuvenation they bring, aren't just for those who are unable to cope. They are, in fact, for those wise enough to know that rejuvenation is part of being able to cope.
I think there is just something in the culture of the generation of black parents like mine that says you just need to tough out your life's circumstances and look for your reward in the afterlife.
I disagree.
I don't think God put us here to work perpetually and stressfully until we die. I think He put each and every one of us here to accomplish a purpose, and it's up to us to manage and maintain our health and mental well-being in order to accomplish His purpose for us. Rejuvenation is part of that management and maintenance, IMHO. Or put another way, if God didn't want us to take vacations and rejuvenate ourselves, he wouldn't have given us Maui.
So, Gentle Readers, take your vacations. Travel. Rest. Rejuvenate.
As I told BMNB, it's sad that I had to travel thousands of miles to get a long and good night's sleep, but boy, was it worth it.
Aloha.
May 25, 2013
The weeks leading up to our sojourn were stressful. I have been under the gun at work, being micromanaged and challenged, working crazy hours. BMNB was pretty much left on his own to take care of himself and his mom. I was doing well to shower and get to work. We also had some major financial decisions to make in short order that were stressing us both out.
My life was waaay out of balance. I think both our lives were. I kept saying over and over, "I just need everything to stop."
The only reason we went on this vacation we really couldn't afford was we both decided we could not let the demands and stresses of our lives make us not take time to mark our ten years together as a married couple and my 50th birthday. I was resolute that this would be a vacation when I was absolutely NOT going to be available to be reached by phone by my bosses as I had been the last time I went out of town for more than two days. BMNB was so resolute that my job would not interfere with our departure that he made a threat that was so out of character for him: "If your bosses even think about getting in the way of our vacation, I'ma come up on your job and act a fool."
Indeed.
It took a lot of late nights to clear my desk, but I did. And then something magical happened.
We landed in Maui.
There's something about landing at the Kahului Airport that, even with its hustle and bustle, takes your blood pressure down about twenty points. The open air design, the palm trees swaying in the breeze, the smell of the ocean and plumeria in the wind just relax you. Everyone here is either on vacation or lives here, so either way, they're happy.
After getting our rental car and grabbing a quick bite to eat, we arrived at our hotel. Our travel agent at Costco.com -- yes, Costco.com -- snagged us a free room upgrade on the highest floor with an ocean view. When I stepped out on the lanai and saw the beautiful grounds and the ocean, I got my wish.
Everything stopped. And that's exactly what I needed.
I don't know about you, but I grew up in a family that didn't take vacations. My dad didn't believe in them and, truth be told, he probably couldn't afford to take his brood of six kids on vacation anyway. I think my late mom, SWIE (She Who Is Exalted), longed to travel but just accepted her vacation-less fate as part and parcel of being married to my dad.
Even in the less than twenty-four hours we've been here, I can already feel the difference in my body. I'm rested. I'm calm. Everything has stopped.
Like BMNB always says, we're not machines. Vacations, and the rejuvenation they bring, aren't just for those who are unable to cope. They are, in fact, for those wise enough to know that rejuvenation is part of being able to cope.
I think there is just something in the culture of the generation of black parents like mine that says you just need to tough out your life's circumstances and look for your reward in the afterlife.
I disagree.
I don't think God put us here to work perpetually and stressfully until we die. I think He put each and every one of us here to accomplish a purpose, and it's up to us to manage and maintain our health and mental well-being in order to accomplish His purpose for us. Rejuvenation is part of that management and maintenance, IMHO. Or put another way, if God didn't want us to take vacations and rejuvenate ourselves, he wouldn't have given us Maui.
So, Gentle Readers, take your vacations. Travel. Rest. Rejuvenate.
As I told BMNB, it's sad that I had to travel thousands of miles to get a long and good night's sleep, but boy, was it worth it.
Aloha.
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