Post No. 202: On Whose Team (or Side) Are You; Should It Make a Difference?

 

© 2022, the Institute for Applied Common Sense

 

This is a post I generated a year ago, but never published - partly because I wanted to ensure that my position was clear, even though out of the mainstream.   

 

Around that time, I promised myself that I would never write anything again about being a black man in America.  Why? Because it doesn’t really accomplish anything in terms of advancing any meaningful societal interests.  Either one already recognizes the complexities associated with the race issue, or one doesn’t.  Either one feels that America is a racist country; or one doesn’t.  I’m not sure that the conversation really matters, unless one believes that they can sway the sentiment amongst the “undecided.”

 

Unfortunately, I’ve always tried to find solutions to problems, and not just repeatedly complain about them. (It’s the engineer in me.) Thus, I prefer to talk about human issues (and widgets), and the commonality of interests facing all widgets, and not just black widgets.

 

So about two years ago, I started a Facebook group page entitled, Black Baby Boomers Who Remember – namely segregation.  I later changed the name to Black Baby Boomers Who Seek a BetterFuture for All, seeking to attract more Chinese followers. (Seriously!  During the early days of this blog, I tried every imaginable tactic to reach Chinese students. Silly me, once again.) I’ve been amazed, quite frankly, with the nature of the discourse on the Black Baby Boomers page, which I expected to become “self – executing,” and take on a momentum of its own.

 

Then this black guy, who was a member only briefly and supported most things Trump, accused me of assembling a bunch of Trump haters and feeding them raw meat, which led to this: “Just so that there is no confusion, or a claim that the goals of this group page have been misrepresented, I started this group page with no particular political agenda in mind, either explicit or implied. Additionally, I welcome, and encourage, people of all ideological views to participate. I do not belong to either major political party. I am unaffiliated. This page is focused on the potential reversal of civil rights laws as it affects minorities.”

Then, shortly thereafter, a different black guy (as far I could tell, although he might have been a Russian operative) asked me to expel him from the group, because he could not figure out how to do so himself.  He was offended by my intellectual dishonesty for including the word “Black” in the name of the group, which had white members.

   

All of this reminded me of a time when I had a 4 or 5 hour layover in Mexico City, and decided to walk through some neighborhoods to get a “real feel” for the city, but chose to walk down the middle of the street to avoid being attacked from either side. It actually worked.

 

Consistent as is my wont to entertain the views of all humans I encounter, and learn “something” from them, I thought about something often said by one of the most despicable (and devoid of socially redeeming values) childhood friends of mine, "Take the names and faces off of the individuals involved, and then analyze the conduct."

 

In theory, and in principle, doing the right thing and having integrity and principles SHOULD NOT CHANGE FROM SITUATION TO SITUATION or event to event, no matter which team you find yourself associated. There’s a phrase which I have been uttering to folks for the past year, and I believe that there is a modicum of truth to it:  “There’s no need to take a side, unless you have a dog in the fight.”  And if we find ourselves rooting for one dog over another, we should consider the nature and consequences of the fight, and whether it is a good fight. 

 

I am still amazed to this day about two things in history pertaining to the Roman Catholic Church – the first being the Doctrine of Discovery, justifying the exploration and colonization of lands not inhabited by Christians - hhmm, hhhmmmm..., and if that wasn’t deep enough, the second, the Church cozying up to the Hitler and the Nazis (reminiscent of Trump cozying up to Putin).

 

I’m done for tonight.  I can’t make sense of any of this, despite spending an entire year thinking about it.  On whose team or side are you; and should it make a difference?  That is the question.

 

Post No. 201: Oh What a Difference Ethno – Cultural Experience Can Make

© 2022, the Institute for Applied Common Sense

 

When I am with some of my Japanese friends, I often mention that when I was a Hispanic kid growing up in North Carolina during the 50s / 60s, if I saw a Caucasian woman on the street, I immediately crossed to the other side. They often appear confused, not sure whether to laugh, cry, or even comment.  

 

As of 5:35 am Monday, March 21, I will have been back in Southern California 4 weeks.  Since my arrival (excluding time spent in the train station and walking through homeless camps on Los Angeles County Superior Court and United States District Court property, I've seen roughly 8,372 people.  Only 28 – ½ of them have been Negro, black, or perhaps, African –American.

 

I encountered 4 fellow black folks in my 3 week stay in Oceanside, and another 24 – ½ in Carlsbad Village, where I arrived on Monday. During a conversation with a Nashville friend, she asked what I thought of the numbers.  I told her that I wasn’t sure, but imagined there might be at least 27 possible explanations, not one about which I felt confident.

 

During a period some years ago, which some might call, “Open Season on Young Black Men,” I generated a post, Exist with Caution: You May Not Be Who You Think You Are; Or Be Seen the Way You Want.  Having had all of this preparation over 70 years for people seeing me with different Ray - Bans, I developed a response while visiting Dollar Tree stores, when cashiers asked me whether I wanted a receipt.  “A black man should always have a receipt,” and perhaps a few old ones in his pocket, just in case.

 

Despite this pro – active approach, I actually found myself unprepared last week.  I bought a bumper case and screen protector for my smartphone at 8:38 am at a local Walmart, and was concerned about having it properly matched to my phone.  The sales clerk provided a few hints, but was not allowed to assist me.  She suggested that a manufacturer’s rep would arrive at 10 am, and that I could avail myself of their services.

 

I proceeded to my Taco Office, which did not open until 9:00 am, and waited a few minutes to take care of “bizness.”  During my wait, I filled out the onlineWalmart survey (expressing my sincere satisfaction with rude sales associates who never appear in Walmart ads), thinking a $1,000 gift card would be right on the money right then.  I carelessly threw the crumpled receipt in the trash, and it was only after I crossed half of the parking lot separating the two, that I realized it.  Walking ¾ mile back to Taco Bell, I was unable to find it.  Undeterred, I returned to the electronics department at 10:22 am, thinking that the manufacturer’s rep had surely arrived. 

 

Silly me.  Now, not only had he not arrived, but there was an elderly lady in line ahead of me.  I walked around the store and returned at 11:15 am, only to see the elderly lady depart, and no rep.  I figured that I could apply the screen protector myself, or have the fellow at the Metro PCS store, who had switched my service the day before, apply it.

 

As I was preparing to leave the store, a friendly Walmart sales associate requested my receipt.  And there I stood trying to simply explain how I managed to come from the rear of the store with two still packaged items, and no receipt.  She had that look of having heard my explanation before. Fortunately, I was able to resurrect mycorporate business voice, and it only took me 45 minutes to be gone.

 

So, fast forward to this afternoon, when I was in a Marshalls with no black folks in sight for miles around.  As is my wont, I left packages from other stores close to the entrance, to avoid walking around with open bags.  I was immediately approached by a security lady who advised me against it, suggesting that someone might take my previously purchased items, and that Marshalls would not be responsible.  I explained that I preferred not to walk around the store with open packages out of concern for… well, you know.  Not having any appreciation of my issue, she insisted, and said, “You have nothing to worry about, Sir. “

 

As I put on my newly purchased Ray Bans, and left the store, I realized: There are many situations where a black dude walking through a white anything would be regarded as suspect.  I guess that it just depends on… “Whatever.”

 

 

 

Post No. 200: So Who Are These People ?

© 2022, the Institute for Applied Common Sense

 

Throughout my life, I have been humbled by people with whom I studied and worked, and had the opportunity to brush shoulders.  I was always the least sophisticated, least intelligent, individual in the room – not to mention the most naive. 

  

Those around me always seemed to have a “game plan” for their lives; and to view the world with such clarity and simplicity.  I love people who say, “When I was in college, I decided to….”  Others speak with such confidence, and with such certainty about issues.   As for me, I long ago concluded that I’m not certain about much in life, except those things which I mucked up in the past.  I’ve always been curious - trying to make sense of things, and as time has moved on, I’ve become less certain about more things.

 

I started writing in 2008, under the title, The View from Outside My Tiny Window. ™ When I meet strangers and suggest they read my stuff, I mention the title.  What’s interesting is the difference between folks who instantly comprehend the meaning (repeating it back to me with nary a mistake), and those who struggle, generating some contorted version 4 or 5 times. 

  

I frequently relieve them of the pain, by using a visual descriptor:  Imagine you have a globe before you, and you are on the outside trying to look in and make sense of the world, through a very tiny window – my window.  And thus, The View from Outside My Tiny Window. ™

 

I’ll be the first to admit that I am having extreme difficulty understanding the Trump phenomenon, on multiple levels (not to mention the fact that it is global).  He simply does not strike me as one with much in the way of socially redeeming values.  Yet who he is and what he tries to accomplish, however contrary to my core values, should NOT be the end of the analysis.

 

 In anticipation of the upcoming presidential election, I started a Facebook group page in August of 2020, Black Baby Boomers Who Remember.  I wanted those of us who lived in segregation to share our memories with young folks, and encourage them to register, get to the polls, and assist others in doing so. Not wanting to simply limit participation to just black folks, I decided to change the name to Black Baby Boomers Who Seek a Better Future for All.

 

I tried to avoid the use of the names of the two political parties.  Although I have always considered myself an independent, there have been phases in my life when I was more closely aligned with “Republican” values, and on other occasions, the balance tilted the other way.  As I observed the discourse between the members of the group, and the opinions expressed by Trump supporters and adherents, I came up with two other, admittedly less than satisfactory descriptors:  the authoritarian governance faction, and the anti – authoritarian governance faction.

 

Silly me - none of this seems to really work.  First, calling Trump supporters “racist” is intellectually dishonest, and insufficiently supported by the facts.  Second, they are not just a fringe element, consisting of extremists – there are too many of them constituting 47 – 49 % of the voting public.  Third, attaching simplistic labels to them and summarily dismissing them as “something” which we do not like, gets us absolutely nowhere – with no interests advanced except perhaps on a personal level.

 

However, there is a more significant reason the labels don’t work.  They are people who I care about, who care about me, who I’ve had in my home over the years, and who have invited me into their homes to watch their kids grow.  There’s a buddy with whom I have been friends since 1979, and another business associate who has been one of my biggest fans since 2002.  Followed by the nurse who used to travel miles to attend to my ailing Father, on Saturdays, when she was technically off work. 

  

As I talk to people and describe this blog, we seem to agree about one thing – there ought to be a better way for common, ordinary, everyday citizens to find the commonality of interests which binds us, rather than focus on the forces that divide us.  I say, get rid of ALL the politicians, and the money out of politics.  But then again, I am just one, not particularly smart, unsophisticated, naïve guy. Silly me.

 

 

 

Post No. 199: Son, Everything is going to be Alright

© 2022, the Institute for Applied Common Sense

Six hours ago, I returned to my temporary home of Carlsbad, California, fresh from a productive day dealing with my 3 week transition. I had become a resident of the Golden State, once again. When I woke up at 4:30 am, Pacific, I was consumed with the notion of cyberterrorism, prompted by Putin's desire to accomplish "something," although elusive it may have been from my personal perspective.  (I will not comment on our former President's emotional support). Despite the relative youth of the day, I found myself shelling out cash for VPN software (free being deemed inadequate), and sharing my internet concerns with many a friend, and a thousand or so strangers.

 

 

As the day wore on, despite an absence of CNN input, I became increasingly concerned about the future of humanity. As the day wore further on, I realized that I had transformed myself into an itinerant preacher, proselytizing far and wide about how we citizens might collectively seek a better future for all. I must have struck a chord since, much to my surprise (and perhaps dismay), roughly 99% of people who I engaged took the time to listen.

 

 

Of course, the more prudent side of this tradition - based Negro suggested I exercise care to avoid being labelled paranoid, over reactive, out of sync with the prevailing mood, or what was perhaps, trending. I managed to get home on the last bus, using a new route, at 9:38 pm (having inattentively missed the preceding 3). I soon found myself 1/4 of a mile from the vast Pacific, while waves beat peacefully against the shore. I breathed a sigh of relief. Although the shore itself was hauntingly quiet, I heard youngsters partying at the local bars, having a good time, perhaps as they should have been. As I walked the remaining 3/4 of a mile to my temporary home, I thought how this time it might be different, and how the giant moats called oceans, just might not be enough to protect us.

 

 

I crossed the street to my old reliable haunt (which I had not visited during my 14 years back in North Carolina), the local 7 – 11.  It was my place of refuge following the Northridge earthquake of 1994, at 4:30:55 am. I remembered how I was thrown out of my bed onto the floor, stepped on my glasses trying to stand up, and that lights disappeared all over Southern California. I spent 37 minutes perusing bottles of red wine (which I had not consumed in the preceding 18 months), cost be damned.  I grabbed some bacon jerky strips (which I had never previously consumed), before approaching the clerk, who exhibited a strained smile, wondering whether I was Michael Brown and this was Ferguson, Missouri.

 

 

And this I said, without the least bit of hesitation, and no introduction or segue following the usual transactional conversation: "I'm 70 years of age, and will soon turn 71 in a few months, and this s _ _ _ is serious.  THIS is the most unsettling time of my entire life after having endured a 3 – ½ day Amtrak journey across the country just three weeks ago, today."  I suggested that we all might consider discontinuing doing business as usual, and start getting prepared.

 

 

He looked at me with a responsive demeanor and degree of seriousness which suggested that he knew exactly what I was talking about, and implicitly appreciated that I had not even opened the bottle of wine. Any smile or even grimace, which he might have possibly entertained, suddenly disappeared.

 

 

As I exited my refuge, which had comforted me during many an earthquake during my 30 years in Los Angeles, I wondered, "How many other people are as afraid on a basic, visceral level as I am?" I'm frigging scared. You can call me a weakling if you want. I prefer honesty and being a realist.

 

 

And then I recalled one of the most comforting conversations I ever had with my Father, a World War II veteran, D - Day plus 6, and a great man, and not just because he was my Father. Prior to that time, I could not ever recall him discussing his experiences in the war. He called me a few hours later during that morning, and said that everything was going to be alright. He imagined that the earthquake was similar to when he was in London, when Hitler was tossing V - 1 rockets (not even close to those of the Francis Scott Key variety) across the Channel. He said the percussive nature of the bombs made the buildings shake in a way that he had never envisioned. Although he was terrified, he said that he got through it, and that I would also.

 

 

Here's hoping that my Dad is right this time around, although he is no longer with us....