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

Posts Tagged ‘politics’

Coping on The Morning After

by on ·Politics

The text tone on my phone pierced the pre-dawn silence at 6:30 this morning, jolting me from the hazy realm between slumber and wakefulness. My son’s message flashed on the screen: “Good Morning, Mom. How are you feeling?”

A sense of foreboding washed over me, reminiscent of the crimson deluge that drenched Carrie at her ill-fated prom. Experience has taught me that a phone call or text message so early in the morning could not be good news.

I texted back. “Good morning, Son. Before I decide whether to turn on the TV, tell me if it will be a good day or a bad one.”

I didn’t have to tell him the context in which I asked that question. He already knew, and he responded, “Bad.”

The night before, as election results trickled in, anxiety crept over me. Hoping for the best but fearing the worst, I switched off the television at 10:15, earlier than usual. Then, to promote restful slumber, I sipped a glass of milk, inserted my earplugs, and let an audiobook lull me into a peaceful state, distancing myself from the political tumult.

A deluge of communications from various acquaintances quickly followed my son’s text message. Phone calls, text messages, and instant messages flooded in, each bearing words of concern or support. Among these, my cousin Vanessa’s instant message stood out. Her well-intentioned and playful query, “Cuz, have the tears stopped?” inadvertently broke the emotional dam I had carefully constructed. Until that moment, I had managed to keep my emotions in check, but her words unleashed a torrent of suppressed feelings.

As more people asked about my well-being, I grappled with an intense emotional response. (For a political junkie like myself, a strong support system proves invaluable in such times.) When asked about my state of mind, I confessed to experiencing what I imagined many other upstanding, devout citizens across the nation were feeling: despair like surpassing the disappointment of watching one’s favorite team lose the Super Bowl; anguish more profound than missing a life-changing lottery jackpot by a single number; and a feeling of sorrow even more heart-wrenching than the loss of a cherished friend.

As the 2024 election approached, I believed I had steeled myself against any unfavorable result. The 2016 disappointment is still fresh in my mind. I cautiously nurtured hope for a different outcome this time while trying to maintain emotional distance. However, my attempts at detachment proved futile. The results left me not just disappointed but utterly devastated. Initially, I yearned for isolation, seeking to process the shock in solitude. I powered down my phone, and after mustering the strength to share one optimistic post on Facebook, I shut off my computer. The temptation to retreat to bed, curl up, and hide from the world for the rest of the day was overwhelming. Yet, through self-affirming thoughts, I chose resilience over despair, refusing to let negativity triumph.

While struggling with emotional turmoil, I contemplated two other coping strategies: indulge in a day-long feast of sweets and comfort foods or channel my sorrow into physical exertion. Opting for the healthier alternative, I confronted my emotions head-on through exercise.

Determined, I positioned my stationary bike, donned my earphones, and selected a playlist on my iPod. As I pedaled with fierce intensity, I became fully immersed in the rhythmic motion and pulsating music. When my phone rang intermittently, I consciously let the calls go to voicemail, recognizing the importance of prioritizing my well-being at that moment. Sometimes, one must unapologetically claim their “me time” to process and heal.

As I furiously pushed the pedals, I realized I hadn’t ridden with such intensity in ages. I imagined myself as a competitor in the Tour de France cycling race. Physical exertion, particularly cycling or other exercise, has always been my go-to method for elevating my spirit. Coupled with music and a vivid imagination, it becomes a powerful vehicle for mental escape. Before long, I caught myself singing along to the songs on my playlist. My mood was on the upswing.

An acquaintance who identifies as agnostic often draws my criticism for his persistently pessimistic outlook on life. During our conversations about the afterlife, he expresses skepticism about the existence of Heaven while asserting that “We’re already living in Hell on Earth.”

Despite my usual disagreement with his viewpoint, I occasionally contemplate its merit. Observing the pervasive evil in our world, I sometimes wonder if his claim holds some truth—that we might unknowingly be living in a form of Hell. This concept suggests that after death, we could transition to another realm, either better or worse, depending on our earthly deeds and misdeeds.

Unlike my frequent routine of switching on the television promptly at 7 AM when I wake up, after reading my son’s text this morning, I delayed until 10:30. As I finally settled in front of the screen, I clutched my most oversized mug brimming with coffee. With each sip, I attempted to submerge myself in the brew, mirroring the desperate actions of a troubled drinker seeking solace at the bottom of a bottle. The rich, dark java became my temporary escape, much like how an alcoholic might use spirits to numb their pain and quiet their inner turmoil. To lift my spirit, another cousin, Jamal, sent me a link to one of my favorite oldies by The Isley Brothers, “Fight the Power.”

Despite my usual inclination towards optimism, there are moments when sustaining a positive outlook becomes a genuine challenge. Today is one of those days. Today the world appears to be moving in slow motion as if it, too, is dumbfounded.

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Milestones and Memories: Charting a Life from Girl to Grandmother

by on ·Aging, Politics, Racism, School Days, The Way I See It

Part I

A few weeks ago, my cousin Cameron attended a rally for the Democratic presidential hopeful, Vice President Kamala Harris, during her appearance in Greenville, North Carolina. (If you missed reading Cameron’s enthusiastic commentary, scroll down to the previous post, dated October 20.)

Last Tuesday evening, former prosecutor Harris held court on the ellipse. A few short years ago, I would have gotten together with some of my buddies, and faster than you could say, “grassroots activists,” we’d have been there front and center, waving signs and hollering support till our voices gave out. But my bum knee kept me away.

My body, once as sturdy as an oak, now picks and chooses which joint wants to cry foul on any given day. Usually, it’s a knee. So, I was stuck at home while history was being made just a stone’s throw away. Of course, I watched the rally on TV, but it wasn’t the same as being there.

It’s a peculiar thing, this aging business. Sometimes, while humming Helen Ready’s hit, “I am Woman, hear me roar,” I dare myself to jog to the corner store.

Enthusiastic civic engagement and social activism moments have marked the past decades of my life. On a crisp Saturday in January 2017, my girlfriends and I joined thousands of other women participating in the Women’s March on Washington, a powerful demonstration of solidarity and advocacy for women’s rights. Just four years prior, in 2013, I was among passionate protesters decrying the acquittal of George Zimmerman in the shooting death of Trayvon Martin, an unarmed Black teenager. That same year, I joined countless other crusaders commemorating the 50th anniversary of the historic March on Washington, reflecting on the progress made and the work still ahead in the ongoing struggle for civil rights and equality. During the 1980s, I believe it was ’83, I was participating in an anti-KKK rally and jeering as the hate group brazenly marched down Pennsylvania Avenue in the Nation’s Capital.

The question “What advice would you give your seven-year-old self?” is a common thought experiment many encounter. Although I’ve never been asked this directly, I’ve often contemplated my response.

If given the chance, I would reassure my younger self, that timid, skinny little girl, not to worry about the future. I would tell her, “I understand that right now you feel misunderstood, shy, and apprehensive about the world around you. But rest assured, this won’t always be the case. As you grow older, you’ll develop a strong sense of self-confidence. You’ll learn to balance your inherent kindness with assertiveness; life’s experiences will help you build resilience. I’d reassure her that there’s nothing inherently wrong with being kind. The world could benefit from more kindness. However, there is also truth in the adage that people often mistake kindness for weakness, so serve your kindheartedness with a dose of caution.

As a young student, you sought refuge in the back of the classroom, a silent sentinel hoping to blend into the shadows. The mere thought of the teacher’s gaze falling upon you sent shivers down your spine, for attention was an unwelcome spotlight on your fragile self-esteem. You yearned for invisibility during those long school days, wishing you could disappear into the worn pages of your textbooks. Even when knowledge danced on the tip of your tongue, you refused to raise your hand, unwilling to risk giving the wrong answer.

But listen closely, Little One, for the future holds a beautiful metamorphosis. That timid caterpillar will emerge as a vibrant butterfly, spreading wings of confidence and strength. The shy girl of yesterday will blossom into a self-assured elder, her voice clear and unwavering.

In the years following high school, you’ll shed your timidity like an old skin. As you enter college, you’ll find yourself brimming with newfound confidence. Gone will be the days of seeking refuge in the back of the classroom or silently rejoicing over your alphabetically advantageous surname. Instead, you’ll stride into each lecture hall with purpose, claiming your spot in the front row without hesitation. Your hand will shoot up eagerly whenever a question is posed, fueled by a genuine desire to engage rather than a fear of being wrong. The sting of an incorrect answer will no longer wound your pride; you’ll shrug it off as a learning opportunity and press forward. This resilience will become your new norm, replacing the crushing self-doubt of your younger years with a robust sense of self-assurance and intellectual curiosity.

Part II

Through life’s journey, you’ll experience the joys of marriage and motherhood, welcoming two beautiful children into the world. Though your marriage will eventually end in divorce, you’ll find yourself fortified by the resilience passed down through generations of strong women in your family.

Your commitment to social justice will flourish as you engage in various civic activities, such as attending anti-homelessness rallies, walking for charitable causes, and volunteering to support political campaigns. While you may never achieve the same level of recognition as iconic civil rights figures, you’ll take pride in your role as a dedicated community advocate.

As the years unfold, you’ll have the privilege of crossing paths with notable figures from various fields, including the acclaimed playwright August Wilson and Award-winning photographer and filmmaker Gordon Parks. In another memorable moment, while volunteering to feed people experiencing homelessness at Mitch Snyder’s CCNV shelter on Thanksgiving Day, you’ll have the opportunity to shake hands with Martin Sheen, one of your favorite actors. He, too, will be there that day to feed the homeless.

Significant experiences and achievements in media, politics, and writing will also mark your journey. Saturday Magazine, an hour-long television program, will feature you and your children in a segment focusing on single-parent families. You’ll attend a taping of the influential Oprah Winfrey show. As your life unfolds, you’ll discover a passion for politics, steering your career toward a field where you’ll frequently interact with politicians. This path will culminate in a significant encounter with Barack Obama, the 44th President of the United States. These experiences will weave together to create a life well-lived, marked by personal growth, community engagement, and meaningful encounters.

Throughout these experiences, your love for writing will continue to grow. Your talent and perseverance will pay off as several pieces find their way into prestigious publications such as The Washington Post and The Afro-American. Pursuing your dream of becoming a journalist, you’ll seize an opportunity to write for a local weekly paper, The Metro Chronicle, where you’ll spend three years honing your skills.

Your creative journey will take an unexpected turn as you delve into the world of genealogy. This newfound interest will inspire you to author and publish a book, adding “published author” to your list of accomplishments. Your life’s journey will be a series of interconnected experiences, each building upon the last, leading to your achievements in media, politics, and writing.

You will have obstacles along the way and try to erase the bad memories of times when you were disrespected or humiliated by at least two employers. You’ll feel you have no recourse but to tolerate their mental abuse because you need your job. Little girl, if you could tell those employers now how you felt then what would you say? “$%@!#.”

Sorry, that would require a content warning on this post. Try again. “I’d ask the fifty-something-year-old executive who playfully slapped me on my butt at work one day, ‘How would you like it if someone in your daughter’s workplace did that to her? Don’t ever put your hands on me again, you old geezer.” But you were young and naïve, and that occurred decades before the “Me too” movement.

A second episode occurred a few years later at another workplace. I sometimes fantasize about what I wish I had said to the arrogant office director; I’ll call her Dr. Karen, who accused me of stealing a three-hole puncher, even though I told her that her assistant (who had already left for the day) told me she was borrowing it and taking it home to use over the weekend. I’d say to Karen, “You bigoted diva. Racism is in your DNA. You could have phoned your assistant and asked her if she had the hole puncher, but you didn’t because you were too eager to accuse the only black girl in the office of stealing it. And then, after I protested, you said that we – meaning black people – (I read very well between the lines) always want to play the victim. I wasn’t playing a victim, darn you. Without any cause or reason, you accused me of being a thief. When your assistant returned to work and produced the hole puncher, you thought it was beneath you to apologize because you never did. I should forgive and forget that incident, but acrimony remains.

Navigating life’s journey might be considerably smoother for all if we could peer into the future during our youth rather than reflect on our past experiences as elders.

But back to the present. While I couldn’t be at the ellipse in person last Tuesday, reveling and waving a sign, you can bet your bottom dollar I was there in spirit. Because self-pride and activism aren’t just about showing up physically – it’s about keeping that flame of change burning bright, no matter where you are or how creaky your joints might be. And let me tell you, my fire and desire for activism is still blazing like a bonfire on a summer night, and it probably will until it is finally extinguished.

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From Bucket List to Broadcast

by on ·Politics

Tonight marks the beginning of an event I’ve eagerly awaited: the four-night Democratic National Convention (DNC). This year’s convention at Chicago’s United Center runs through Thursday, August 22. For years, attending the DNC has been a dream of mine, a personal bucket list item. While some people yearn for adventures to exotic locales like the Caribbean, Sardinia, or Paris, my aspirations have always been closer to home, rooted in the vibrant world of politics. Ever since I watched Representative Shirley Chisholm’s inspiring speech at the 1972 convention, I’ve longed to be part of this dynamic political gathering.

As a self-proclaimed political junkie, I understand the DNC’s primary purpose: nominating the Democratic candidate for the U.S. presidency. Yet, beyond the political machinations, the convention appears to be a grand celebration, a political festival of sorts, when viewed from afar. I want to be there. However, a friend recently reminded me that time is ticking for me to fulfill this dream. Like the Olympics, the DNC occurs only every four years, and I’m not getting any younger.

Reflecting on my political journey, I can’t pinpoint when my passion ignited. My parents weren’t particularly political; my mother didn’t vote, though my father rarely missed an election. Perhaps his dedication influenced me.

Politics has coursed through my veins for as long as I can remember. I’ve been involved in local campaigns, including Mayor Marion Barry’s, and have pinched pennies to contribute financially to various political causes, including the candidacy of current Democratic nominee VP Kamala Harris. My time at the Metro Chronicle newspaper also encouraged my interest in politics, allowing me to interview local political figures whom I admire, like Eleanor Holmes Norton.

Though I won’t be mingling with the political luminaries this week, I’ll be tuning in eagerly. When you’re a little fish in a little pond, you’re basically the CEO of a very exclusive puddle. As the CEO of my own little world, I may not be in the thick of the action, but I’ll be watching, captivated by the spectacle of democracy in action.

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Warriors for Justice

by on ·Law and Order, Lifestyle and Culture, Opinion, Politics, The Way I See It

The following post was written by Guest Author, David White.

Think 1955 in Tallahatchie County, Mississippi. The murderers of Emmett Till are on trial, and everyone – everyone – black and white knows that the outcome of the case is a foregone conclusion. The prosecution team does the best they can. Till’s Uncle, poor Mose Wright, under immense life-threatening duress, identifies the culprits in front of the crowd in the courtroom, and the murderers still get off scot-free.

Fast forward to 2021, and put yourself in the House Managers’ position at the 2nd Impeachment Trial of Donald Trump. Imagine the demoralizing effect of knowing that you face a group of Senate jurors who are as intractable and oppositional as those in the Emmett Till case. The Managers did an excellent job. They certainly inspired me to want to do more to ensure that we preserve the ideals they so eloquently and fervently advocate.

Their opponent was the personification of autocratic nihilism, a man who would gleefully watch the destruction of the beautiful Capitol building, a structure erected with immeasurable toil, blood, and tears. A man who would encourage an insurrection because voters spoke and he could not find enough accomplices to help implement his devious plan to invalidate the election results and maintain power.

The word that perhaps best sums up what I witnessed from the former president’s defense would be “absurd.” Of course, when your client is the 45th president of the United States, you expect nothing other than absurdity.

Look at some of the imprudent and sometimes humourous outbursts from the trial (with a few personal interpolations).

“Mr. Chairman, the prosecution is being unfair, they’re bringing in evidence that implicates my client, and I feel that is prejudicial and so….uh, wrong”.

“Mr. Chairman, they’re using his words as reported by the media and as promulgated on social media platforms, and how can that be fair? After all, they’re only reports, and who would ever be prosecuted or found guilty on mere reports, even if they are his own words?”

“I declare ‘reports’ to be hearsay and inadmissible and totally unfair”.

“I say they should present their case without reports, without incendiary video, and simply go about fixing the pandemic and racial inequity.”

“Mr. Chairman, we reserve the right to imply that their presentation is fraudulent and hypocritical because we say it is.”

“And we reserve the right to present statements into evidence that are mere assertions and assert them as facts, because – the prosecution is partisan.”

“And we know they’re partisan because they identify as Democrats, except Liz Cheney, Mitt Romney, the numerous other Republican congressmen and women who declared the trial valid along with the over 100 legal scholars of all political persuasions who determined my client was guilty of inciting insurrection. So, this whole trial should be declared a sham, and let’s all go home in the name of unity.”

“Oh, and by the way, the videos they showed with my client appearing to egg on those pre-meditated incursionists didn’t tell the whole story. They forgot the part, somewhere after about the tenth time he said fight, that he dropped in the word peacefully in a totally non-sarcastic manner. As we know, my client does not have a sarcastic, insincere bone in his body.”

“Since they can doctor up videos let me show you some totally out-of-context videos, for several minutes, of numerous Democrats, many of them in this chamber at this time, using the word ‘fight,’ which of course I will present in a nonpartisan manner because we on this side don’t believe this should be a partisan matter.”

“And while I’m at it, let me show some gratuitous videos of violent street incidences involving a lot of people of diversity with the implication that these are Black Lives Matter and Antifa members; not Trumpers acting violently, though not put in any contextual framework because – somehow this is really a trial about Antifa and BLM, and we really shouldn’t be partisan.”

“So, in conclusion, Mr. Chairman what I’m saying is, you can’t find that my client, who called those well-known violent thugs, racists, anti-semites and kooky conspiracy theorists to the Capitol for a ‘wild’ day as Congress was certifying the election that he legitimately loss, but which we don’t have to admit, guilty of incitement, just because he sent them there to fight like ‘you know what’  or they would lose their country.”

“Oh, one more thing, can you call a recess so that I can consult with the jurors as to how to go about assuring my client’s acquittal?”

I brought up the Till case to push back on this notion that I’ve been hearing from pundits that I generally respect, like Ari Melber and Joy Reid, that the House Managers were derelict by not demanding witnesses to “look those jurors in the eye” and tell them about the pain and suffering they’ve endured. Presenting witnesses may have produced more tearjerking drama, but in my opinion, it would not have brought more conviction votes from naysaying Senators who had already – over three days – seen proof of criminal acts.

Just as an affidavit, handwritten by Emmett Till and certified by God, would have been rejected by the Mississippi court, no truth or proof that anyone else could have provided in that Impeachment Trial would have swayed any of the Trump loyalists.  Furthermore, the trial would have descended further into their nihilistic trap and turned into a comedy of errors.

Lawyers for the Defense:  “Mr. Chairman, if they call this witness, I demand that Kamala Harris be called…VP Harris, are you now or have you ever been a member or associate of Antifa or BLM?”

House Managers: “Objection.”

Lawyers for the Defense:  “You can’t object. This isn’t a real court of law, and the chairman is not a real judge. Mr. Chairman, they are being unfair in not allowing me to question my witness as I see fit.” (Moments later) “The defense now calls Rep. Maxine Waters to the stand.”

Back to critiquing the trial, I loved how Chaplain Barry Black designed his opening prayer to touch the conscience of anyone who was listening who had a conscience. He was precise about what the trial was supposed to be about (truth over falsehood, courage over cowardice). And I imagined his majestic voice and prayer emanating from above, delivering a message about good battling evil, and lies versus truth to souls that need saving.

House Managers Jamie Raskin, Joe Neguse, and Stacey Plaskett’s presentations were uplifting, and I was especially impressed by their impassioned, principled exhortations to righteousness. Raskin’s citings of Thomas Paine, Benjamin Franklin, and the Bible were also profoundly inspiring.

Although most Republicans clung to their false prophet, there were some courageous living testimonies on that side, too. Burr, Romney, Cassidy, Murkowski, Collins, Sasse, and Toomey sought and will find salvation in the truth.

Following the Emmett Till trial, Wright and the two other black men who testified against the killers had to relocate away from Mississippi. The fate of the courageous seven Senators in the 2nd Impeachment Trial, along with the previously insufferable Liz Cheney, may not cause them to be run out of town; still, it is not unreasonable to think that a megalomaniacal sociopath and his disciples will try to punish them in every way possible. They are to be commended for their courage.

The “fight” for justice continues, and righteous warriors carry on.

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Reflecting on Inauguration Day

by on ·Capitol, Inauguration, Politics

Talk about being a crybaby. I can’t help myself. When it comes to pomp and circumstance, I am a waterfall. Weddings. Graduations. Funerals (Funerals don’t count. A lot of folks cry at funerals.). A good book or movie can also bring on the waterworks. Sometimes when I am angry I cry Quasimodo ugly, but when I am happy, I shed tears of joy.

Yesterday’s Inauguration ceremony was a happy crying time. Like numerous other Americans, I had been looking forward to that day since November 3. After climbing out of bed and showering I brewed a pot of coffee. (Hazelnut, delicious!) Then, I turned the television on to my favorite all-news channel and hopped on my stationary bike. From 8 a.m. throughout the day, until near midnight, I watched all things Inaugural. My planned bike riding marathon lasted an hour.

As the reports of the activities and events leading up to the Inauguration were broadcast, I got weepy. It wasn’t the fact that the long-awaited transition of power was almost over that made me emotional; it was the beauty and solemnness of the ceremony. I can’t remember how many times I snatched a tissue from the Kleenex box.

Knowing that I have a hair-trigger emotional switch, I always fight to hold back the floodgate, but there are times when the safety lock fails. Take Tuesday evening, for instance. I was watching the commemorative service held at the Lincoln Memorial for the COVID victims and was doing well until Yolanda Adams sang one of my favorite hymns, Hallelujah. That did it. Crying time.

Then yesterday, my eyes welled with tears as the Bidens’ motorcade arrived at the Capitol. As the first couple exited the limo, joined hands, and walked up the steps (steps that on January 6 looked like a scene from Night of the Living Dead), I had a one tissue, two teardrops moment.

Seeing Kamala Harris and her husband descending the steps to be seated in the ceremonial area was a two tissues moment. More tears fell later when Kamala was being sworn in.

But before the swearing-in ceremonies began, when the Obama’s arrived and walked through the passageway and down the blue and red-carpeted steps leading to their seats, I lost it. The dam broke. I emptied the Kleenex box.

At one point during the program, MSNBC political commentator, Joy Reid, said that she was having a goosebump moment. Excuse me, Joy, but I had flash floods. I later learned from many of my Facebook friends that they also turned on the waterworks during the ceremony.

I know that there are some people who may not have shared the joy that so many of us felt yesterday. People have different ideologies regarding politics, and this not so “perfect union.” Some of the nonconformists are my friends. Like them, I am aware of the odious acts of violence and other racial injustices committed against Black and Brown people in this country. As many objectors do, I protest against it, speak out against it, and do what I can to try and bring about change. But I refuse to walk around every day feeling disgruntled about the status quo. Life is too short, and that baggage is too heavy to carry. Sometimes I choose to set aside the load and be happy, if only for a few hours. If only for a day. I heed the advice of Bobby McFerrin, “Don’t Worry Be Happy.” Yesterday was a day to feel happy.

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