My two-cents worth and then some. An online journal by LP Brown.

Posts Written By L Parker Brown

She Said. He Said. Two Perspectives on the Fani Willis Testimony

by on ·Law and Order

This post was co-written with David White, Guest Author

She (I) Said.

Fani Willis was the hot topic last Thursday during and following her testimony at the Georgia election tampering case hearing. Some of my friends, acquaintances, and I were tuned in to MSNBC or other TV channels broadcasting the proceedings and commenting among us via text, brief phone calls, and social media.

Most of us were in agreement that professional ethics and avoidance of any improprieties should have been the topmost priority in Fani’s mind relative to any court case, but especially one where the stakes are so high.

“What was she thinking?” was repeated so often it could have been a round in a song.

Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream. Fani, don’t you realize that life is not a dream?   

And now you are caught up in a nightmare. Girl, didn’t you think that any romantic or alleged romantic involvement with Nathan Wade, who you appointed as special prosecutor in the case, might raise some suspicion? (I like to flatter myself into believing that some public figures I write about read my posts, and occasionally, I get an unexpected response.)

Despite the unfortunate circumstances, the District Attorney of Fulton County got high-fives for deportment because of her professional behavior on the stand. We liked how, with her head high and shoulders squared, she strolled into that courtroom like she owned the place.

The saying that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned could be rewritten in this case to imply that hell hath no fury like a woman who feels she is being used as a deflection. Regardless of the innuendoes, assumptions, and admissions, it is evident that the intent is to throw Fani and her team under the bus or, more precisely off the case, to delay proceedings.

I was happy to see that Fani did her homework. She didn’t waste any time waving court documents like she was fanning away flies as she lashed out at Ashleigh Merchant for lying in the filings. It was an Oscar-worthy performance of an angry black woman, but one who made her point while showing intelligence and class.

Regardless of the impropriety of the relationship with Mr. Wade, my buddies and I were cheering Fani on for standing her ground. As I said to one friend – she is no shrinking violet; she is a live wire. Anyone who comes to her had better come correct with their information.

I think some of the questions by the opposing team were improper and invasive, and at times, I found myself cringing, but Ms. Willis appeared cool under pressure and gave as good as she got. It was a heartwarming moment for me when Fani responded to a question from Merchant by saying, “I will not emasculate a black man.”

I was also elated when Fani’s dad, John Clifford Floyd III, a criminal defense attorney, took the stand on behalf of his daughter and turned to the judge before answering a question about Fani keeping sufficient cash in her home. He said, “I don’t mean to sound racist, but it’s a black thing.” Indeed it is. Every woman I know was taught to keep some cash on hand.

He (David) Said.

I first became familiar with Fani Willis when she was being interviewed about taking on the momentous task of prosecuting an American president on criminal charges. It was more than evident from her direct and unwavering manner that she felt she was up to the task. She spoke forcefully about her obligation to Georgia’s citizens to protect and observe their laws. From then until now, nothing has shaken my belief that the task is not too big for her.

As I watched the hearing Thursday, I identified with Fani as she suppressed what had to be an almost intolerable amount of indignation and rage over a concerted effort to impugn her character.

Growing up as a black child in the South, I recognized something that was also familiar to Fani. If she grew up like I did, she was taught from a very young age that she was as good as the next person and should never cede dignity or self-respect to other people.

I imagine her seething over the innuendos and intimations spewed by the opposing team. And when I saw the resolve on her face, I knew there would be fireworks! I’ve seen too many black women in my family, and others unrelated to me, wear that look of umbrage and indignation when offended. So, I identified with Fani and held my breath.

She is brilliant and professional, so I didn’t expect that there would be dicey words exchanged that could turn the event into a caricature of the Jerry Springer show. Still, I sometimes imagined Fani pulling off her earrings, kicking off her shoes, and taking a fighting stance.

She let Team We-Know-Who know she would not allow them to tarnish her reputation and drag her through the muck. She showed them that she could see through their tactics and clarified that she was not a  “defendant” and was not on trial. I feel that it was essential that she laid out the dynamics, and she did it expertly.

She also reminded everyone that although she is a district attorney, she also has a personal life. She said there was no unethical intent in bringing on board a former boyfriend and reiterated that she and Wade were no longer an item when he joined her team.

There were obvious racial undertones implied in many of the questions. “What are you doing with that kind of cash on hand?” “You mean you can reimburse each other without receipts? What kind of a relationship is that?”

The more the opponents explored that premise, the less ground they gained and the more obvious it became that they were merely trying to discredit her and get her and the rest of her team removed from the case. If not for her forceful defense, it may have worked. Not because it was warranted but because, like so many other instances, those on the high ground cede to the bully because the bully complains loudly and raises too much of a stink. Sometimes, the competitor has to be smacked down! And that’s what I feel Ms. Willis did. She rendered a verbal smackdown. And I felt so proud that she did.

 

 

 

0 Comments

Resurrecting Uncle Tom

by on ·Opinion, Politics

I was wrong. Not many people would willingly admit that. The truth can smack them in the face like a Key Lime cream pie, and even while licking off the pastry, they’ll refuse to admit they were wrong.

I’m also opinionated. Anyone who knows me knows that. However, when stating my point of view, I usually feel confident that I am well-informed about my subject and not merely speculating.

Who doesn’t enjoy the ego boost of being right? I do as much as the next person, but my credibility trumps my ego. So, usually, before arguing a point, I fact-check. And sometimes, I learn more than I thought I knew about the subject.

For example, the other day, while on a social media site, I noticed that a politician (I’ll call him Doe, minus the John ) was strongly criticized after a TV newscast showed him kowtowing to a specific presidential candidate. People in the chat room were livid. They said Doe’s behavior was not only degrading but made him look like a genuine suck-up. I agreed with what folks were saying about him, and while enthusiastically adding my two cents, I referred to the subject as Uncle Tom. (Did some of you readers say, “Oh, no, you didn’t?) Yes, I did.

Bad move! One of the other commenters in the room checked me on my remark. She politely but dutifully informed me that Doe was not an Uncle Tom and added that calling him that would be insulting to Uncle Tom.

My fingers were positioned over the keyboard, preparing to type a humorous retort, but I changed my mind. Instead, after leaving the site, I did what I often do when challenged – I researched the subject. And I soon discovered that Uncle Tom (a fictional character from abolitionist Harriet Beecher Stowe’s anti-slavery novel Uncle Tom’s Cabin) was not the minion many people believe him to be.

Tom’s character is based on a slave named Josiah Henson, who became a minister after being introduced to religion. (Some of you readers are saying, “I knew that.” Good for you. I didn’t know it; if I did, I forgot it. So, I’ll continue.)

Henson was born June 15, 1789. As he grew older, his enslavers recognized him for his exceptional physical strength and leadership ability. That gave Henson some leeway that he used to his advantage. He was a clever fellow and had a sense of humor, too.

In 1830, Henson ran away from the plantation in Charles County, Maryland, to Canada. A few years later, he returned to the plantation and stole away his wife and children, bringing them to his new homeland. In the years following, the courageous fugitive led other enslaved people to freedom along the Underground Railroad.

In 1849, with the assistance of abolitionist Samuel Atkins Eliot, Henson published Uncle Tom’s Story of His Life: An Autobiography of the Rev. Josiah Henson. That same year, Henson met author and abolitionist Harriet Beecher Stowe.

Four years later, Stowe wrote Uncle Tom’s Cabin to buoy an argument against the injustices and hideousness of slavery.

Stowe’s book was eventually adapted for theaters. Shrewd producers of stage performances, fearing they could not attract an audience for the theatrical production as written by Stowe, took liberty and fashioned minstrel shows based on the novel. Those shows where actors appeared in blackface diminished Stowe’s disclosure of the inhumanities of slavery. Instead, it made a mockery of it. In 1903, Edwin S. Porter’s film production of Uncle Tom’s Cabin further grossly distorted Tom’s character and embodied racial stereotypes. Those theatrical productions were instrumental in contributing to the negativity and the fable that encouraged black Americans to begin using the misnomer to slur other blacks who they felt relinquished their dignity to elicit the favor of influential Caucasians.

I’ve been familiar with the “Uncle Tom” slur all my life. I heard it used often during the Clarence Thomas/Anita Hill hearings and even more recently ascribed to Dennis Rodman and Kanye West aka Ye.

I know that name-calling is wrong. (Mother, rest your soul, you taught me that.) But I’ve never claimed to be perfect. Like every other flawed individual, I am sometimes judgmental, often opinionated, and an equal opportunity wisecracker. All one can hope to do in this crazy world is end up on the right side of wrong and keep educating oneself in the process.

As long as people remain ignorant of the truth behind Stowe’s main character, the myth of Uncle Tom as a model for negative racial stereotypes will persist.

I should not have been surprised to learn that soon after its publication because it exposed the horrors of slavery, Uncle Tom’s Cabin was banned in the Southern United States and Russia. In these contemporary times, it remains on the banned books list in some states. Lesson learned.

 

4 Comments

Dr. King’s Birthday: Commemorating and Remembering

by on ·Activism, Family, Race Matters

The observance of Dr. King’s birthday stirs a lot of memories. It reminds me of the tragic way his life was cut short when he was assassinated 56 years ago, four months after his 39th birthday. On the other hand, like numerous others, I felt a sense of pride when Dr. King’s birthday became a  federal holiday in 1986. But what I think about most on Dr. King’s Day is the March on Washington.

I was a naïve junior high school student on summer break when the March on Washington occurried. Before that, I was aware of the civil rights crusade, although, to my knowledge, no one in my family was active in the movement. And since we were living in Washington, DC, the place some of my Carolina relatives referred to as “up North,” I felt distanced from — but was not oblivious to — the demonstrations and violence against demonstrators in the Dixie states.

I acquired my early education about the civil rights movement from the TV, and by perusing newspapers and other publications my dad brought home. Our family only had one old black-and-white television during my childhood, and my parents controlled the viewing. Each evening, after my dad arrived home from work and the family finished eating dinner, dad would turn on the nightly news. My siblings and I had no choice but to watch the news with him – boring as we thought it was – or find something else to occupy our time until we could reclaim the TV. Then, we would watch some of our favorite programs:  Leave It to Beaver, Ozzie and Harriet, Father Knows Best, I Love Lucy, and My Three Sons. I only remember three black programs airing back then:  Beulah, Amos and Andy, and The Nat King Cole Show. As the civil rights and black pride movement progressed, numerous black people, the NAACP, and others alleged that Beulah (a black maid) and Amos and Andy promoted stereotyping. Those shows were canceled but remained in syndication for years.

Dad subscribed to The Washington Daily News and frequently brought home editions of other papers, including The Capital Spotlight, The Washington Afro-American, and Ebony and Jet magazines. I will never forget how horrified I was the first time I opened Jet and saw a photo of Emmett Till’s disfigured body after he was murdered in Drew, Mississippi, and dumped in the Tallahatchie River.

On August 28, 1963, when my Aunt Sarah, a schoolteacher in New York, arrived in DC with some of her coworkers from the Big Apple to participate in the March on Washington, I no longer considered the civil rights movement to be just another sad news story. Suddenly, it was a big deal. I actually knew someone who was going to participate in the march. My aunt would be among the numerous people joining the largest gathering for civil rights of its time.

Aunt Sarah and her friends tried to persuade my mother and me to go to the march with them, but mother declined for both of us. We had watched too many newscasts showing civil rights demonstrations where adults and even school-aged children were violently attacked, blasted with high-powered fire hoses, and wrongfully jailed. And I knew from overhearing the conversations of some of our neighbors who hung out on the front stoop of the apartment building where we lived that they believed hostile white crowds were planning to attack marchers on the National Mall with the same maliciousness used against protesters in southern states. I also remember being as surprised as many adults that the anticipated city-wide clashing between non-violent marchers and anti-protesters in the streets of DC did not occur.

I’ve always felt proud knowing my Aunt Sarah was one of the estimated 250,000 people who participated in the March on Washington, the largest gathering for civil rights during that time. In hindsight, I regret that I did not march with her.

I once read the following quote. I don’t remember where I read it, but it has stayed with me. “Everything will come in its own time at exactly the right time for you.”  And so it did. I missed the opportunity to stand with my aunt amid the crowd, to be there – in person – to hear Dr. King give his iconic speech. But since then, I’ve participated in several protests, rallies, and marches for worthy causes, including the 50th Anniversary of the March on Washington in August 2013.

So, every year, on Dr. Martin Luther King Day, as I remember Dr. King’s tremendous contribution to civil rights, I also think of my late Aunt Sarah (who died on Thanksgiving Day in 2011). How fortunate was she to attend the March on Washington and hear The Dreamer speak? She created a small niche in American history and a significant one in our family history because she was right there in the crowd. Black and proud.

2 Comments

An Open Letter to Nikki Haley

by on ·Political Humor, Politics, The Way I See It

Nikki Haley, you blew it, girl. But you know that, don’t you? That’s why you’ve been backtracking and trying to clean up your mess ever since the New Hampshire town hall meeting last Wednesday. Your evasiveness on that Civil War question so outraged the spirits of my ancestors that I could visualize them pursing their lips and shaking their heads.

How could a former governor of South Carolina, SOUTH CAROLINA, of all states, flub the answer to a question about the Civil War? Remember Fort Sumter? No, not the Alamo, Fort Sumter. Would you have responded the same way if, instead of campaigning for president, you were on Celebrity Jeopardy, and the final question was, “What was the cause of the United States Civil War?”

Joking aside, between you and I, we know you didn’t really flub it. You knew what you were doing. You were playing your cards right and dealing them from the bottom of the MAGA deck.

When asked about the cause of the Civil War, you mentioned freedom relative to the government’s role and how it would be run. But the “S” word, “slavery,” never slipped off your tongue. And then you tried to flip the script by asking the questioner what he thought caused the Civil War. Nikki. Nikki. Nikki. SMH

I hope you or one of your assistants is reading this, Nikki because I want you to know that it’s people like you who have turned this former political junkie against politics and shady politicians. Yes, I’m gradually weaning myself away from all things political. “What’s that?” you said. Of course, you don’t care. And I don’t care that you don’t care. But let me tell you about when I became interested in politics.

It was decades ago. Before I retired, I worked for a couple of lobbying firms. One day, my employer, a former Chicago State Senator, had me accompany him to Capitol Hill for a meeting with then-Senator Barack Obama. You remember him, don’t you? Of course you do. Some months after I met him, Senator Obama became President of the United States. That made my day but probably spoiled yours.

I enjoyed working at both of the lobbying firms. Shortly after I entered that profession, one manager told me they prefer to be known as a government relations office instead of a lobbying office. Apparently, “lobbying and lobbyists” get a bad rap. (That’s rap as in reputation, Nikki, not music. I’m just saying, in case you didn’t know.) I suppose that bad rap concerns PAC contributions and how they influence politics, right? Surely, you know all about PACS and Super PACS. But we’ll keep that on the down-low.

My position required that I visit the Capitol building and the six Senate and House office buildings on numerous occasions. I even rode the subway beneath the Capitol building, which shuttles senators and staff between their offices a few times. Although my trips to Capitol Hill were usually to retrieve bills from the document room, meet with Congressional staff, or deliver PAC checks, I didn’t mind being the gofer because I got to see and experience a side of the legislative branch of government that many folks don’t.

I think Capitol Hill is one of this city’s most beautiful areas, whether blanketed in snow or adorned in springtime by various beautiful flowers, plants, and trees. That’s why, to this day, I get so angry whenever I think about or see a TV news clip showing the January 6, 2021, insurrectionists climbing up the side of the building like an intrusion of cockroaches.

During my years of employment in government relations offices, I met many politicians besides President Obama. Some of the others I remember include the late Senators Ted Kennedy, Bob Dole, DC Mayor Marion Barry, House Speaker John Boehner, and Former Atlanta Mayor Shirley Franklin.

I’m glad that I’m retired and away from all things political. Who wants to be associated with that profession? And who would like to be president? Bad question. Strike that. I won’t say that politicians are to blame for all the things tearing this country apart, and I wouldn’t dare suggest that one particular party, sometimes described as the MAGA-ring circus, fueled the fire. Wink.

Even a blind man can see that the whole world is having a nervous breakdown. The detrimental effects of global warming and climate change are wreaking havoc on the environment. With its expensive robotic contraptions and elaborate devices, the technological revolution is further straining the relationship between the affluent and the disadvantaged. And whether the blame gets laid on the economy, social injustice, or the status quo, people everywhere have gone rogue and lost their freakin’ minds. Unconscionable souls embrace all things immoral, evil, and unlawful. Warfare, crime, and mass killings are escalating. Progress is regressing on women’s rights, civil rights, human rights overall, and racists are banning books and trying to whitewash black history. Jumpin’ Black Jesus! What next?

I’m closing this letter to you now, Nikki. I just had to get some things off my chest and remind you that God don’t like ugly; that includes lying and denying. Before I go, may I suggest some books for you to read? Nevermind that some of them are on the banned list:  The 1619 Project by  Nikole Hannah-Jones; Stamped: Racism, Antiracism, and You by Ibram X. Kendi and Jason Reynolds; and Without Consent or Contract: The Rise and Fall of American Slavery by Robert William Fogel

One last thing, girlfriend, and I’m done. Wasn’t it Will Rogers who said, “Everything is changing. People are taking their comedians seriously and the politicians as a joke?”

 

 

0 Comments

Relishing the Spirt of Christmas

by on ·Christmas

“All these things and more … that’s what Christmas means to me.” Steve Wonder sings.

Commercialization aside. Religious significance understood. That said, for anyone who needs it, I’ll move on and talk about why Christmas is my favorite holiday.

When I was a child, the days between Thanksgiving and the Yuletide season seemed endless. As I write this, there are 16 days left until the big day. Most folks barely finished scrubbing the turkey drippings from the roasting pan before they began dusting off ornaments and decorating the tree. Weeks ago, I pulled out my stack of Christmas CDs and began singing along to tunes like Give Love at Christmas by the fabulous Temptations. (Feel free to click the link and enjoy the song while reading this post.) Listening to Christmas oldies starts a mental slideshow that transports me back through time to the days of my youth.

My parents did what they could to ensure that my siblings and I would have beautiful memories of Christmas. They are gone now, but I cherish those memories and remain forever grateful they did not prevent us from enjoying what so many other children our age did: the magic of Santa Claus.

I feel sorry for the children of contemporary parents who refuse to let their children participate in what they consider the “big lie” about Santa. I learned soon enough (too soon for me) that Santa was a myth, and I was no worse off for having spent many preadolescent years believing in him. When I consider the harsh reality that today’s youngsters contend with – school shootings, pedophiles, child trafficking, and other heartbreaking events, I think children deserve a rest from the chaos and insanity of the world. If only for a few days, let them experience the fantasy of Santa Claus. Some folks will disagree with me, and that’s their prerogative.

I found Christmas so enjoyable when my family would take us down south to visit my grandparents on both sides of the family. It was a blissful time, and the joy was enhanced because aunts, uncles, and cousins whom we rarely saw during the year also gathered at grandma’s house during the holidays.

Next to bonding with my cousins, the best thing about visiting grandma’s was the delicious meals prepared during our time there. I can’t talk about it enough, any more than I can stop thinking about it. Even now, I salivate when remembering mouth-watering meals, including baked ham, roasted turkey, and fried chicken with various side dishes. Collard greens seasoned with fatback or some other cured meat, homemade macaroni and cheese, candied yams, corn, string beans, stuffing, yeast rolls, biscuits, and cornbread slathered with butter and splashed with jelly or jam preserves. Desserts might include fruit cake and apple pie. Grandma made practically everything from scratch. You’d be hard-pressed to find anything prepared from a can or box on her table. And the beverage was almost always Lemonade or Kool-Aid.

In addition to Christmas music, the fragrant smell of live pine or fir trees triggers my memory of those wonderful years.

Also resurfacing during the holiday season are other visions of Christmases past, like when my parents would take us downtown to see the holiday window displays. Department storefronts would be illuminated with colorful, animated exhibitions, including dolls, Santa and his elves, and snowy landscapes. My town’s most extravagant festive showings were at Woodward and Lothrop, the Hecht Company, and Lansburgh department stores.

No matter how often I view it, the four-minute video below fascinates me. As I watch it, I imagine I am seven years old again and standing with my family in front of the storefront display, indifferent to the winter cold. My mouth is gaping in awe, and I envision myself traveling like Alice Through the Looking Glass to the fantasyland on the other side. Watch it, readers, and see if your imagination will take you there.

As I share this peaceful, fantasyland vision with you in the spirit of Christmas, I wish you Happy Holidays! Be safe. Be blessed.

2 Comments