No Offense, But…

This morning, I woke up to a text message from a friend that read, “So when are the Libertarians and Independents going to send out their Eff You message?”

Having just roused from sleep and not yet being of sound mind, I had no idea what she was talking about. But after a moment passed, the lightbulb went on and I had myself a very decent chuckle, and I hope you will, too, as I share this story with you.

In 2006, a good friend and co-worker ran for Congress. He ran as an Independent against a much beloved Democratic incumbent and a Republican who was a self-proclaimed practitioner of Eckankar. 

Although my friend lives about 30 miles away from me in a demographically different part of town, we happen to live in the same congressional district. (Gerrymandering at its best, I suppose.) He asked me if I intended to vote for him.

“Well, no,” I said. “Firstly, I’m not registered to vote in Texas, and secondly, I don’t believe in anything you stand for.” He was a bit put out by this, as he had somehow decided that friends should vote for friends even if their politics do not jibe. 

But not to be dissuaded, he invited me — and everyone else in our department— to an election watching party. He had hoped to watch the results roll in and bask in however many paltry votes he had managed to accrue. Now, when I say he invite the whole department, what I really mean is the whole college, as at the time I was working at the University of Texas. He invited us all: the Dean, his coworkers, and all the faculty. The only people he didn’t invite were the students, and probably only because he didn’t have their email addresses. Thank FERPA for that, at least.

Election night (and the aforementioned party that I did not attend) came and went, and the next morning, I was greeted with the following message in my inbox:

Subject: No offense, but F**k you

Body: I’m not sure what to say at this point.. but I am beginning to think that F**K YOU may be appropriate.… I have tried on several occasions to invite you to a party I am hosting and yet you have not attended (with very, very, few exceptions), let alone bothered to acknowledge that I even invited you to attend.

As a result of tonight’s turnout, amongst my fellow employees , I may not be in the office of Thursday or Friday because I have serious things to consider as to why the f**k I am working with you, and why you will not support me.

Have a great morning you inconsiderate jackasses,
** 

Yikes, I thought. Guess no one went to his party.

When I got to work, I asked a friend, “Hey, did you get um… a strange email this morning?”

My boss overheard, sighed, and shook his head. “Well all got it. And I mean, we ALL got it. He even sent that email to the Dean of the College.”

Thinking it must be a joke, we all huddled around my computer to re-read the message. On second reading, we were still a bit taken aback by the vitriol — and unintentional hilarity — of the email, but we were also convinced it wasn’t a joke. (Though we did joke about whether the final salutation was directed only to the Democrats amongst us, or if “jackasses” was intended more inclusively.)

It wasn’t a joke. And though tempers flew, especially the Dean’s, he wasn’t fired. In fact — and this is really the best part of the story— the very next month, a mere three weeks after this incident, he was awarded Employee of the Month.

There is no moral to this story. There is no great political message to be learned. It is simply something I wanted to share in the aftermath of the 2008 election because even after two years it still makes me laugh and shake my head in wonder.

This Is My Children’s America

photo credit: b_d_solis

My grandfather is 12 years old. He is the illegitimate son of a wealthy, white plantation owner and a black house servant. His father passes away, and his will indicates that the plantation shall go to his only son. But my grandfather is black, and his white half-siblings take their claim to court. The court does not grant the illegitimate, half-breed child his rightful home.

My mother is 18 years old. She is standing before the Dean of the School of Engineering where she has applied. She wants to be a draftsman. She’s smart; her grades are good. She’s skilled at what she does. “Quite frankly, Miss, I already have two women in my department, and I am trying have them thrown out. I am disinclined to accept another woman into this school.” My mother walks away, ashamed of her hips, her breasts, her uterus, of being female. 

My stepfather is 46 years old. He is a successful Los Angeles lawyer with his own firm and impressive client portfolio. He is trying to buy a new home for his new wife and three children. The neighborhood is upscale, conservative, in a good school district. His initial application is approved. Then the homeowners, and the neighbors, meet him, with his dark, black skin. And suddenly the house is not available. This neighborhood is not for him. Black skin does not go with their carefully manicured lawns.

I am 11 years old. I am watching Dangerous Liaisons. I am enthralled by Glenn Close in her fabulous makeup and beautiful period clothing. When I grow up, I want to be an actress like Glenn Close and wear such fabulous outfits. But I look at my brown skin, and I remember that I cannot play a French aristocrat. I will have to settle for a Creole maidservant, like Thandie Newton in Interview with the Vampire. Hollywood doesn’t make beautiful movies about people who look like me.

My son is 6 years old. He is watching Barack Obama’s acceptance speech. He is watching his mother cry, but he doesn’t understand why she is crying. He watches his father, who is white, come into the room and embrace his mother. He hears his father say, “On behalf of my people, I congratulate your people.” He doesn’t know what that means, or why his mother says “Thank you.” He is watching Barack Obama, and watching the crowds, and he wants to be President of the United States some day. And though he is black, though he is descended from a long line of black mothers and fathers, today we know that my son can.

Today we have done right by my people, and by my son, America. Now we need to do right by our daughters. Let’s keep taking the bricks down. One block at a time.

God bless America.

Technologies of Validation

photo credit: amburn.everett

As I sit here watching the Presidential debate, I am simultaneously reading people’s responses on Twitter (specifically, all the talk about McCain repeatedly using the term “my friends”).

I’m fascinated by the responses. I’m fascinated by the similar things so many people have picked up on. I’m fascinated by the way we relay our thoughts and feelings, and more interestingly, that we are relaying our feelings about the election and the candidates with utter strangers via virtual real-time conversation.

Someone told me that what she likes about Twitter is the fact that it makes her feel less alone. She can be by herself in her home office, and yet being surrounded by Tweets from both friends and strangers centers her and helps her see herself as part of a vast network of artists, writers, politicians, mothers, and carpenters all out there doing the work. Twitter, for her, is a window through which she can see a busy world. 

I am watching the debate alone, but I am also watching the debate with hundreds of other people. Hell, with hundreds of other people who are annoyed that John McCain keep saying “my friends”. I can choose my company that specifically. That’s astonishing.

My mother was taught that neither politics nor religion is discussed in polite company, and yet one generation later I can sit here and not only read but participate in disparate “conversations” about these politicians, their eccentricities, their gaffes, their policies, and their presentations. We are free to discuss our fears, what we found amusing and what pissed us off and, astoundingly, to feel like our opinions and feelings on these things matter.

Maybe that’s the real value of technologies like Twitter. They make us feel that we matter.

What could we do as people, as individuals, if we felt that our opinions our strengths, our unique qualities truly mattered? What could we accomplish if we believed with our whole hearts that our words, thoughts and actions could actually affect and change the world around us? 

I’ve always known technology would change the world. I’m not sure I was aware of the many degrees of truth nestled in that belief.

Open Letter to the Economy

Dear Economy:

I know we are not in the habit of talking; in fact, I feel much as an agnostic must feel upon addressing God. So by way of introduction, allow me to share a memory with you. My little brother Aaron and I were in the car with my father. I was 19 or 20, my little brother 7 or 8. They were recounting the events of a Lakers basketball game. My father expressed dismay at Rick Fox’s abysmal performance. My brother, shaking his head of blond curls, laughed, “Rick Fox sucks.”

My father, a proponent of rearing children to use the English language to the best of their abilities and also of teaching children not to denigrate others, replied, “Rick Fox could do better.”

My brother rolled his eyes. “Yeah, a lot better.”

I don’t wish to be rude or to denigrate you, Economy, but in the words of my father, you could do better.

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Blackness in American Political Narrative

I was on the radio this morning talking about Barack Obama and whether or not he would really be “the first black president” (which honor apparently goes to Warren G[angsta]. Harding, secret Negro president) because, according to some people, his being half white makes him not black.

It doesn’t. It doesn’t in any way negate his blackness. I’ve written about this before, so I won’t rehash it here. But it did get me thinking about this issue from another perspective.

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Troubles with Affirmative Action

Several months ago while browsing Half Price Books, I picked up a copy of Charles Darwin’s Origin of the Species. I’m not sure why I picked it up, as I have never taken a course in biology and know absolutely nothing about the subject. As it turns out, the book is beautiful and accessible, and I’ve learned quite a lot, not just about biology but also about community.

I read something within its pages not too long ago that struck a chord with me. On page 109, Darwin writes, “[F]or, as varieties, in order to become in any degree permanent, necessarily have to struggle with the other inhabitants of the country, the species which are already dominant will be the most likely to yield offspring which, though in some slight degree modified, will still inherit those advantages that enabled their parents to become dominant over their compatriots.”

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