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.

Lord I Come: In Memory of Emmett and So Many Others

Lord, I Come: In Memory of Emmett and So Many Others

August 28, 2018

Lord, I come

With burdens on my heart

I’d just as soon give them to you

And then from here depart.

Lord, I come

With many unspoken hopes and dreams

Life is too hard for some

Or so it oftentimes seems.

Lord, I come

Like the widow of old

I press and I press upon you

Is it ok to be so bold?

Lord, I come

Burdened that so many die

Black is their skin, empty their hands

Bullets ring, blood runs, death is nigh.

Lord, I come

He is somebody’s son or father of a child

She is somebody’s daughter or kin

The nation goes on sadly beguiled.

Lord, I come

Somebody’s skin is worth more

Somebody’s skin is worth less

How do we as a country settle that score?

Lord, I come

For in churches we pray

While we lay the dead aside

I am listening for what you will say.

Lord, I come

The list could get very long

This is one thing I protest

That black bodies dying is just plain wrong.

The Clock Is Ticking

When was the last time that you had that proverbial, "the clock is ticking" experience? What was the issue?  What would happen if certain things did not get done in a timely manner?  What would happen if things did indeed get done in a timely manner? What kind of pressure do you and I feel when our backs are against the wall, to use another metaphor?

The Grant family is in that situation.

The family has done a good job of representing itself pro se, or "on behalf of themselves." See this definition. Now, the United States Court of Federal Claims has asserted that the Grant family must  be represented by an attorney who can practice in that court. This requires expertise and it is expensive.

We invite you to support this noble cause.

How did things get to this level?  Here are some of the details that I wrote from the gofundme page in the past on behalf of Matthew and Florenza Grant. 

In the small historic community of Tillery, North Carolina, on a farm to market road, “Roanoke Drive” adjoining the Over the Farm Road, stands a granite sarcophagus, inscribed with the names of Matthew Grant and Florenza Moore Grant. Located where the family’s vegetable garden once was found lie the remains of these two good family farmers. They are still waiting for justice from the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) and the US Department of Justice (DOJ) as are their family and friends.

Matthew Grant was born just 50 years after slavery, his land-owning family, descendants of share-croppers in southern Virginia. Matthew married his beloved Florenza Moore in 1940 and together they formed a marriage and family that raised six children and numerous nephews and nieces, all educated from proceeds of farming in the Tillery Resettlement Community. 

Their stories of discrimination began in 1971 and remain unresolved to this day. They died prematurely in the battle to save their farm from foreclosure. At one time, it is estimated that they had spent 100,000 hours fighting the discriminatory practices of the USDA. They died before seeing justice. The estate is now fighting for justice for Matthew and Florenza.

On three separate occasions, the USDA and the DOJ admitted that discrimination had occurred. On each of these three occasions, they finagled their way out of honoring due process for Matthew and Florenza. 

Here is another report from the gofundme page. 

Summary of USDA’s Discriminatory Actions Toward the Grants

Admittedly, farming under the influence of the USDA is very complicated. Here is a brief summary of the injustices Matthew and Florenza Grant experienced at the hands of the USDA.

• Originally the Grants were foreclosed upon in 1976 for the sum of $10,000 following three years of county-wide disasters with little to no support from the county office in restructuring loans or other benefits given to any white farmer.

• In 1981 the Grants signed a “Consent Judgment” against their property such that the USDA would release farm equipment. This was, according to the USDA, a “settlement of sorts,” which allowed them to continue farming; however, the USDA refused to allow one son who was a farmer to assume their debt, but instead foreclosed on him as well. The USDA also refused to allow another son to assume the debt and would not work with the adult children on a monthly payment plan.

• In March, 1998, Matthew Grant and the USDA Civil Rights Officers signed a “FINAL RESOLUTION AGREEMENT,” documented with photographs of Secretary Glickman, other USDA officials, and two Grant sons after the signing of the agreement. This action is further documented in a letter from the Director of the Office of Civil Rights dated March 27, 1998. 

• In 2000, under the leadership of another Director of the Office of Civil Rights, the USDA offered a settlement which was deemed an insult by the family. The USDA said that they wanted to settle with the family once and for all. 

• Later in 2000, when it appeared that the USDA was reneging on their agreement, the Grants entered a class action suit Wise etal v. Veneman in a case that is yet to be settled.

• Upon Matthew and Florenza’s deaths (2001), the family heirs attempted to settle once more with the USDA. The requirement by the Department of Justice was that the action, withdrawal from the Wise law suit must be done “with prejudice,” a term signifying that charges could never be brought again. This would mean that all rights of the Grants would be surrendered, something all black farmers have faced.

• The USDA and DOJ are hiding behind technicalities such as no “similarly situated white farmer” was named. This is untrue. The family did point out a “similarly situated white farmer.” This claim is ludicrous.

• Currently, the family heirs are paying a large sum of money to a local bank that has paid off the federal government so that the land cannot be foreclosed upon. This monthly payment is weighty and onerous for the family.

• Justice is still left undone for Matthew and Florenza. This one final possibility through administrative procedures is the final opportunity for justice.

Here is a picture of Matthew Grant, his truck, and his dog. Below is a photo of the Grant family and my wife and me at the sarcophagus of Matthew and Florenza Grant. 

Is Diplomacy Lost Forever or Merely Misplaced?

Seems like most days there is another sound bite by the man at the top of the pole insulting someone else, and I wonder to myself, "Is he setting the standard or is he simply reflecting the standard that has been set?" Kind of like movies.  How do they reflect culture versus how do they shape culture. Maybe the answer is both with the President* and with the movies.

Several years ago I worked with a gentleman in our youth ministry.  He was a tad older than my wife and me, deeply loved and respected by the kids, and we came to love him as well.  He moved on as did we.  When we finally met up six or eight years later, we were talking one day about how we were the same and how we were different.  His description of me was that I was pretty much the same, just a little smoother.  That certainly is not a term that I'd use to describe myself, but I asked and he told me the truth as he saw it.  It was hard to argue with.

I have always valued diplomacy.  Nowhere in my repertoire is a belief that anyone cares precisely what I think each and every time that any issue is on the table.  So, brutal honesty or truthfulness, though sometimes useful is not all of the time useful. Looking for commonalities, seeing things from a variety of viewpoints, and above all, respecting all others and their opinions were up the list of values.

In this day and age, whether in social media or in the media, we see insults of all sorts.  Some insults come via people you and I would respect.  Some come from people we do not respect. That distance that is created when we are talking to someone in cyberspace allows for more cruelty I suppose.

One person epitomizes these issues in my opinion far more than anyone else.  One who is called upon to lead with diplomacy is known for shooting from the hip.  He has become the chiefest of insulters.  Yes, I realize that I am insulting as I write.  Perhaps I, too, should be more careful.

Today I am most offended that he would call a Black woman a "dog." We know that is insulting, racist, and sexist. Even his spokeswoman tried to explain it away.

This afternoon I attempted to wade through an article in The New York Times that lists insults that the President* has made toward individuals or entities.  The list is "The 487 People, Places and  Things Donald Trump has Insulted on Twitter: A Complete List." I only made it through persons in the C's alphabetically.  You can hit the link for either chronological or alphabetical.

Here is the list I compiled:

"animal, fakers, biased, crazy, a waste, worst, incompetent, mediocre, ungrateful fool, sloppy, dumb, lost soul, sad, irrelevant, nut job, basket case, wacky, no talent, low-life, dopey, crazy, weak, not very bright, little, disaster, a joke, liar, leaker, clown, dummy, dumbest, dope, hell hole, dumb as a rock, low I. Q., very dumb, not very bright, neurotic, a mess, failed presidential candidate, weak, weakest, not a leader, pathetic, sad sack, low-energy stiff, embarrassment, pathetic, phony, too soft, miserable, arrogant, disaster, weak, no talent, sloppy, a total loser, grubby, third rate, lying machine, Wild Bill, hypocrite, terrible, failed badly, the real predators, crooked, Crooked Hilary, crooked H., corrupt, owned, lyin’, fear-mongering, brainwashed, dangerous, weak, corrupt, reckless and dangerous, enabler, totally flawed, ineffective, lightweight, flunky, dopey, disaster, Frankenstein, a Flake, unelectable, weak, ineffective, sneaky, disgrace, dog, low life, sleazy, wacky, crazy, neurotic dope, irrelevant, Punchy, low IQ individual, disgrace, inept, dishonest, flunkie, boring, biased, zero talent, unelectable, deceptive, dishonest, reckless, puppet, nervous wreck, cheater, Lyin’, weak, dishonest politician, desperate, hater, third rate, forgotten, lightweight, incompetent, stupid, slimeball, disgruntled, slippery, the worst." 

I feel a tad slimy, just cutting and pasting them onto the page. 

Why do I put them here?  Maybe from my own sense of curiosity.  Perhaps a tad of voyeurism. Perhaps an "I told you he was not a good person." Or maybe any number of other agendas you and I could co-create.

Ultimately, I want my children and grandchildren to have someone they admire, someone they hold to a higher standard, someone who sets the bar high, who encourages them to achieve and to strive toward goodness and kindness. I, too, want a leader that I can admire, one who leads with dignity, grace, justice, and integrity. And then, down the road a piece, I dream that my kids and grandkids will be the kind of person that others can admire, respect, and follow. 

That would be a grandfather's dream come true. 

Your thoughts about this list?  

Dear Lord Friday It Is

Dear Lord:

Friday it is

And I’m feeling tired

Been a long week

And in this life I’m mired.

Got my wife,

Got my dog

Got my home

Livin’ high on the hog.

Love my kids

My own

My grands

Lovin’ some of those seeds we’ve sown.

My body’s feelin’ good

Most of my days

Some days though

I walk through a haze.

This world is not my home

A lot of folks sing

I kind of like it here

But let freedom ring.

Some of us are free

Some of us are not

Some live on a shoestring

‘bout all they got.

Folks like me

With skin that’s white

Feel more power

And that’s not right.

Jesus taught us

To love one another

That woman over there

Is someone’s mother.

Judge not

Based on the color of the skin

Let’s get it right

And do this again.

In the eyes of God

The One who made us all

All are worthy

And no one’s small.

Treat people with respect

Is that so hard to do

Gotta get it right

Before we’re through.

There’s hope I feel

When I see the young

Caring for each other

Like a new day sprung.

Jim Crow’s gone

It got voted out

Still in those hearts

Makes us want to shout.

The young of the land

Seem to get it right

Respect and equality

They’re livin’ in the light.

Thanks very much

For showing us the way

For those of us who are older

Can see a brand new day.

Amen

Our Own Civil Rights Mini-Tour

For some time, my wife and I had planned a brief trek across the South to see and experience some pivotal scenes in the history of civil rights in our country. Though the time was short, the experiences were deep.

We visited Money, Mississippi and the infamous Bryant's Grocery Store where Emmett Till was accused of whistling at the owner's wife. He died a brutal death within hours, and his murderers were deemed "not guilty" by an all white, male jury. Here are three scenes: 1) the marker in Money, 2) the store in its day, and 3) the gin where a 75 pound fan was seized and attached to his body before it was dumped in the Tallahatchie  River.

Marker at Bryant's Store

Store at it was in the day

The gin in Glendora

The gin is now the site of the Emmett Till Historic Intrepid Center in Glendora, Mississippi. At the gin we made new friends from Friendswood, Texas and Greenwood, Mississippi. That was a memorable conversation.

New friends from Mississippi and Texas

The following day, we had a most remarkable experience. We wanted to visit the site of the iconic photo and demonstration of the Tugaloo students at the Woolworth's counter in Jackson, Mississippi. Woolworth's is now a parking garage, but the marker is there commemorating the event. Loki Mulholland, a friend in these battles for justice, has noted on numerous occasions and in his three documentaries that his mother, Joan Trumpauer Mulholland, sat at the counter. Before leaving town, we determined to deliver document to one of the principals in our black farmer documentary. Most people up and down Capitol Street. His office building was under reconstruction.

    A last ditch effort found us walking into an office that promoted the city. 

Woolworth's Capital Street, Jackson

Charla and I were twinsying on this particular day, wearing our match Black Farmer Land Loss Summit t-shirts.  While we stood at the desk discussing our agenda with the officer personnel, a woman walked past us, did an immediate u-turn, came back, and said, to me, "My father was a black farmer." A  lively conversation ensued.

Matching black farmer t-shirts

She immediately called her friend, the wife of the gentleman we wished to see. We were ecstatic.  This photo is taken after that wonderful conversation. We were amazed that the confluence of forces led us into that office, to her, to her friend, and from her friend to the office of the person we wanted to see.


Thursday was a most remarkable and heart rending day as we went to the Legacy Museum in downtown Montgomery, Alabama, on the very site in which enslaved Africans were warehoused prior to being auctioned. A dream of Bryan Stephenson, The Legacy Museum covers enslaved through mass incarceration via video, audio, photography, and other means to capture the brutality meted out upon the backs of the enslaved and its history up to the current time. Dr. Marsha Vaughn, friend, former student at Abilene Christian University, and faculty member at Judson University, Elgin, Illinois, was the inspiration and prompt for the tour. She is passionate about matters of justice.

National Monument for Peace

Telling the story by Akoto-Bamfo

Trinity County Texas

Up the hill a quarter of a mile or so is the National Monument for Peace and Justice. Immediately inside the large open space at the bottom of the hill is a gripping piece of sculpture by artist Kwame Akoto-Bamfo of Ghana.

The design of the National Monument was both intriguing and moving. Moving clock-wise, steel rectangular cylinders represented the county and state and the name and date of the lynched person. When I found my own county, Trinity County, Texas, I was deeply moved. And likely remain so for a while.

A trip to Alabama would be incomplete without a trip to Selma.  The home of the infamous Bloody Sunday, March7, 1965, in which those marching from Selma to Montgomery were turned around at the bottom of the bridge by police, guns, water hoses, guns and all manner of violence. My wife and I walked peacefully over the Edmund Pettus Bridge which symbolizes the best and the worst of America during the Civil Rights Movement, the worst because people died in Selma, and the best because justice was realized, ultimately. We had a lively conversation with three women from Chicago and Selma. 

Edmund Pettus Bridge

We walked the bridge and then we walked through the memorial garden on just below the bridge on the way to Montgomery. As we walked the bridge, we pondered the names and faces of people we have seen in the media, but more dramatically, we pondered the stories of people we have gotten to know who have given their very lives for justice. That list of people stretch across the south, up the eastern seaboard, and reaches into the Bronx. I plan to see Selma again along with a few more important movies. Someday soon, I will also listen to some interviews done with farmers through the years.  I will be moved. Their stories must be told. Their stories are the stories of the civil rights movement in America.