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Activism is Nothing to Laugh About

“A sense of humor helps us to get through the dull times, cope with the difficult times, enjoy the good times and manage the scary times.” Steve Goodier

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Most people enjoy a good laugh. Unfortunately, it gets more difficult every day to maintain a sense of humor when horrific events, like yesterday’s violence in Charlottesville, and regularly occurring acts of evil worldwide, lead us to think that there is nothing to laugh about. Nevertheless, we must laugh whenever it is practical to do so, because without laughter, love, empathy, and the belief that there is a Supreme Being maintaining a balance between good and evil we have nothing but an unending feeling of dread and hopelessness.

I strive to write blog posts that are lighthearted, but following the tragic and senseless death of one the counter-protesters in Charlottesville, I felt compelled to write this post, for people who wonder why activists do what they do.

As a full-time protester-at-heart and a parttime-activist in reality, I feel tremendous empathy for activists. I’ve participated in my share of rallies, protest marches, and other cause-related activities. Unlike my friend, Linda Leaks, whose years of social action and experience give her license to write an encyclopedia on activism, I would do well to put together a small handbook on the subject.

My most recent participation in a cause-related event was the Women’s March on Washington which occurred on January 21, 2017, and drew an estimated 500,000 participants. Of all the events that I’ve participated in the one that required me to conjure up the most courage was when I joined numerous counter-demonstrators protesting a march and rally by a faction of the KKK who traveled from North Carolina to rally in Washington, DC in October 1990. Thanks to the counter-protesters the march never took place. Instead, to keep the two groups apart, mid-route, law enforcement officers loaded the Klansmen onto a bus and drove them to the capitol grounds where their rally took place.

I was first bitten by the protest bug while in high school. One of my two best friends (her first name is also Loretta) and I were circulating a petition asking that students be allowed to wear sneakers to school. Back in those “prehistoric years” of the late 1960s although DC schools had a casual dress code including appropriate footwear, students were not allowed to wear what we called tennis shoes to school. I don’t recall how many student signatures Loretta and I had acquired before a voice came over the PA system ordering the two of us to come to the principal’s office. We were given an order by the assistant principal to cease-and-desist, thereby putting an early end to my initiation into the world of peaceful protest.

In the decades after that, I’ve circulated my share of petitions and taken part in various demonstrations, marches, walks, and rallies. A number of the protests were to end homelessness, including nearly a dozen years of walking in the annual Fannie Mae Hammer homeless walk, and at least one march with homeless activist, the late Mitch Snyder. I also occasionally helped serve meals to the homeless residents of CCNV. I have walked for the cause of Breast Cancer prevention, Autism, Osteoporosis and Justice for Trayvon Martin, and in the 50th Anniversary March on Washington.

I think the fact that I’ve lived all of my life in a city where politics is the center of activity and because I have several lack-minded friends it has played a part in my desire to “do something.”

I applaud the counter-protesters who stepped-up to the plate in Charlottesville, and I pray for those injured and Heather Heyer, the young woman who lost her life.

If you’d like to learn more about why people choose to become activists, check out an excellent article published in Psychology Today titled “What Makes An Activist.”

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Remembering Aunt Sarah

sain-aunt-sarahI’ve always thought it strange that folks write letters to their deceased loved ones, or post birthday and anniversary wishes to them on social websites. Because if we believe in The Word, the Bible says that the dead know nothing. And if that’s the case, then attempting to communicate with those who’ve crossed to the other side is silliness. Or is it?

Sigmund Freud believed, and some contemporary psychiatrists agree that writing is therapeutic – even writing to the dead. When we can share things that have happened in our life, tell our deceased loved ones things that we wish we could say to them, or just tell them how much we miss them it helps us feel better emotionally. Be it a lover, close relative or friend, writing helps us build a spiritual connection with that lost someone.

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Dancing Stark Naked on Facebook

I can’t tell you how often I’ve heard people say, “I would never get on Facebook. People put all of their personal business out there.” I’m sure you’ve heard someone say it too.

For the uninitiated naysayers, I’ve prepared these five guidelines to Facebook.

1.  Facebook reveals a lot about the cast of characters behind the pages of its social media website. Rational people use discretion on Facebook just as they do when they are offline. If someone is prone to oversharing when they are disconnected, then they will probably be the same way online. In fact, they might be more braggadocios because on Facebook members are the star of their own reality show. And if one believes the thought-provoking commentary titled, Healthy vs. Unhealthy Narcissism that claims “We are all narcissistic to a degree.” then Facebook is a narcissist’s playground.

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I’m Not Riding the Bandwagon

Street Road Sign Bandwagon“Whether I’m right or whether I’m wrong, Whether I find a place in this world or never belong, I gotta be me.” Those song lyrics written by Walter Marks and recorded by Sammy Davis, Jr. define me to a tee.

Sometimes I feel like a misfit in a go-along-to-get-along, anything and everything goes society. I long for the days when there was a clear distinction between right and wrong, good and bad, and males and females, instead of a muddled mess of confusion.

Back in the day, if an acquaintance asked me, “What are you doing for the weekend?” and I said “I’ll be hanging out with my girlfriend on Saturday,” I did not catch a raised side-eye or feel the need to explain that she is just a friend, who is female. We are not lesbians. I resent that nearly everything today requires clarification to prevent the facts from getting twisted.

“We the people” are expected to climb on the bandwagon and support every non-traditional lifestyle, fad, or fantasy that surfaces. Personally, I would rather walk alone than ride along with those who are playing follow-the-leader.

I know there are others out there who feel as I do and they are not afraid to

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We the Jury, find . . .

for blogFor weeks, I dreaded it. As the time grew closer, I accepted the inevitable. There was no avoiding it. Sooner or later, I would have to do it. Sometimes to avoid thinking about it, I would create a mental list of things that I would rather do:  listen to someone talk with their mouthful of food, step in chewing gum, or have a root canal. Dozens of other things came to mind. Things that I would rather do than IT. But alas, I knew I would have to comply with government orders or suffer the consequences. So, when the day arrived, I obeyed the summons and reported to the courthouse to do it – jury duty.

As incredible as it is, I know people who enjoy jury duty, but I’m not one of them. I resent spending hours sitting in the Juror Lounge feeling as bored as an egotist at a humility conference. Nor do I look forward to being in a closed room deliberating with a group of argumentative jurors. Been there. Done that. Never want to do it again.

Like many District of Columbia residents,  I receive a jury summons about every two years. If I were an irresponsible person, I would do what some defiant citizens do when summoned. Ignore it. In 2014, 70,000 people in the District of Columbia ignored the order to report for jury service.

There are consequences for being a no-show. The penalties vary from state-to-

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