Like You, I Was Riveted to the Screen

Perhaps like you I was riveted to the screen. In fact, my wife and I were both captivated by what was happening in DC in the hearing yesterday. At the end of the day, we both left dissatisfied. In different words, we experienced "we can do better" moments, and in others a sense of "this is that to which we have devolved."

A few of my own personal observations. Those on the right hid behind the interviewer and when they stepped out from behind her, they were minimalist in their discourse, polite, and condescending. In the face of a credible witness with a meaningful story to tell, they essentially sat on their hands. They were men.  Yes, they were men. They did step out rather boldly when questioning the Judge, but not when they were questioning the psychologist.

Dr. Ford did incredibly well at telling her story despite her anxiety and what seemed to be an effort to lead her somewhere by the interviewer who was hired by the Republicans. We found her captivating and engaging and truthful and believable. We wept at times with her and likely with others around the country.

Judge Kavanaugh was a different story. The worst of what entitled, educated men have devolved into, his narcissistic rage, his entitlement to filibuster and avoid questions, and his persistent victimization were abhorrent, along with his condescending attacks on the senators. This is the man who will likely be positioned as the next on the SCOTUS. He is the one the president* has chosen, the one who will lead us back into the promised land which we began to leave back in the 1960s at the onset of the culture wars, if the right is to be believed.

His disregard for the women on the left and even for men on the left was telling and troubling.  His vituperative spirit is what we want on the Supreme Court? It seems that he has been very, very well coached in terms of presentation, avoidance of directly answering questions, and in evading the truth that many know.

Then, when Grassley and Graham become unhinged. That was ugly.  When the Judge evoked conspiracy theories of ghosts past, he did not look like someone who was fit for the Supreme Court.

I personally would like to see an independent FBI investigation.  I assume that their investigative skills far surpass those of the Senate Judiciary Committee, several of them said so. I just want to know the truth in a "no holds barred" kind of way.  I am weary of politicians telling me, especially white male politicians telling me what to believe.

There is a larger context within which these matters fit.  Later this year there is an article to be published that situates the issue of black land acquisition and dispossession against the larger context of the history and trends of our country. I hope you will read it.  I'll post the link here.

What are you driving at, Waymon? The point at which I am driving is that that which was ugly yesterday is that which has made life miserable for people of color and for women since the origins of our country. Powerful white men dominant the political discourse of the day. Powerful white men on the right of the political spectrum especially, in our courts, our legislative branches, and in our churches.  In our churches.  I see it in the history books, on television, in the stories of black farmers in dealing with the USDA, and in all manner of other locations.

In points of contention, both overtly and covertly, the advantage goes to the rich white guy.

Rise up! Arise! Rise up! Speak your voice! Tell your stories! That is my encouragement to women, to people of color, to anyone who feels thrown under the bus.

What will the world look like when I am gone and smoldering in the grave and my grand daughter is taking her rightful place in society? I want her opportunities and voice to speak volumes about courage and righteousness and righteous causes.

I believe Dr. Ford

Man, Meteor, and Message

Come Sunday morning I’ll be leading the second class on “Encounters with Jesus.” Nathanael’s story from John 1 is the focus this week. It is a curious story.  Placed in the middle of three or so “days” in sequence, it tells the story of one guy, Philip, telling another guy by the name of Nathanael that they had found the Messiah. It is a profound though short story, and he is never heard from again.

As an introduction to the class, I’ll ask, “What is a story of your encounter with another person that shot like a meteor through the sky, but still resonates with you even now?” Depending upon the conversation that is created, I may or may not tell my story of Doc Washington. Here it is for those who want to read it.

Mr. Washington began teaching at the white high school where I attended as a transition from a black high school and a white high school to one school. As I was told, there was an exchange of teachers, some going to Westside High School and some coming to Trinity High School where I went as a prelude to complete integration. He was black.  I was white. He was a teacher. I was a student.

I had all of my science courses with him, biology, chemistry, and physics. Most who know me know that I am not a “science guy,” but for some reason, Mr. Washington saw something in me.  He told me on more than one occasion and in more than one way that I could do science, that I had a good mind. I can still see him now in his white lab coat, and me in my white lab coat, the one that he bought me.  I can still see the lab he set up, and the one in which I mixed chemicals to create hand lotion for the local county fair entry in science. He was engaging, articulate, and to me, he was brilliant and a man ahead of his time. Later I found out that he’d earned a masters from Sam Houston State University and a doctorate from California Berkley. He was an educator for 35 years and he was a veteran of the US Army. 

Beyond all of that, he was a mentor at a challenging time in my life as well as a challenging time in the history of my high school. As a black teacher in a white high school, I heard that he was ostracized by both communities. I, too felt some of that sort of thing, but mine were slight by comparison to what I assume his microaggressions and macroagressions were. I was called on one occasion, “Mr. Washington,” and read it as an insult.  On another occasion I was called a “N****r lover,” and for sure that was an insult. The white lab coat was an invitation to insult both him and me.  No one else had a lab coat at that time.  I was sort of his lab assistant. There was a price to pay.

Besides being on the end of those insults, and I have no idea what kind of insults he experienced, he taught me to believe in myself. He taught me to improvise. When conducting a lab experiment, if everything was not in place, improvise, or use skills of ingenuity. He actually passed out an award for that every so often.  My name was on his awards board more than once. He taught me how to mentor and how to engage with people of different persuasions.  He taught me that learning was imbedded in relationships. He taught me that music is a part of life. He played the saxophone. One evening I walked into a house where my brother and his band were playing.  There sat Mr. Washington. What a moment.  Seriously what a moment. I also learned that the young and the older can hang together.  The last time I saw him I was 18 years of age and he was 43 or so.

I am indebted to him.  A black man living in Jim Crow south believing in a white kid who did not yet believe in himself. He transitioned on March 16, 2010. Oh, to have one more conversation with him.  Just one more.