Thoughts From A Short Round Black Man

Nothing to see here

The saddest part is just how so blasé we’ve become to it:

10 people dead.

An admitted racist who livestreamed his heinous act because he feared for his Christian Whiteness.

And it’s no longer a lead story.

The regularity of White people killing with weapons of war has become numbing:

Charleston
Orlando
Pittsburgh
El Paso
Atlanta
Oxford, Michigan
and now Buffalo

Different scenarios, predominately using weapons of war, all fearful of being “replaced” or becoming “irrelevant.”

To say nothing about all them Black folk using government money. I’ve heard the figure $700,000 per Black person…

2020 numbers: approx. 41.6 million African Americans in the U.S.
at $700,000 per man woman and child, that is still $15 BILLION LESS than what Elon is preparing to pay for Twitter….personally I want my 40 acres—you can keep the mule…

And that’s not even counting the acts of other deranged White people who decided they were just going to kill—mostly because they feared for their Christian Whiteness:

Oklahoma City
Jonesboro, Arkansas
Columbine
Aurora
Oak Creek, Wisconsin
Sandy Hook

We knew the battle was lost when 20 Kindergarteners died and all it did was make Alex Jones rich (and an advisor to the failed game show host who occupied the White House)—and those who said they need these weapons of war tried to convince us that ACTIVE SHOOTER DRILLS FOR SIX YEAR OLDS WAS THE PRICE WE PAY FOR FREEDOM.

The deranged waste of space in Buffalo is proudly saying the cretins on “the dark web” and their theories that have become common on the news networks of choice for the acolytes of the failed talk show host drove him to this—which means Seattle’s two most popular purveyors of over the air idiocy and their Patreon sycophant—will be busy this week on the airwaves/cyberspace saying “I can’t help if a listener/viewer is deranged and it’s all ANTIFA’s, BLM’s and the Seattle City Council’s fault anyway—AND LOOK AT THE FENTANYL SMOKING HOMELESS PERSON TAKING UP SPACE ON THE BUS AND LIGHT RAIL!!”

Whenever these things happen, I find it incredulous that people will try to garner sympathy or provide an explanation for these cretins. Understand, the people saying, “this is the act of an insane individual,” or “something drove them to commit this terrible tragedy” are the same people who won’t hesitate to say under their breath, “what do you expect from these people,” when it involves a person of color committing a violent act.

Since we concede that we’re not taking these weapons of mass destruction off of our streets through public pressure—since the gun lobby has lots of money and we unfortunately know that there are at least 74 MILLION PEOPLE who when the failed talk show host and his toadies say “jump” will respond “how high, my master?” –we need to start looking for creative ways to make it safe for people of color—indeed for all people—to start being able to safely go to the store, to church, to a night club—or even a massage parlor.

And we need to look no further than our nine friends in the black robes in Washington, D.C.

I propose the next mass shooting in a blue state—and there will be another mass shooting in a blue state –that the state attorney propose legislation calling for the regulation of guns to protect “the preborn—and all future generations.”

Now stay with me:

This country is preparing for the repeal of what has been the legal standard for the last 50 years based on the logic that there is no “right to privacy written in the constitution” when it comes to a woman and her uterus.

And by the way, within 48 hours of that decision, you can be sure some saltine in the region of this country where my child has chosen to stay, will introduce legislation that will look at invalidating United States v. Windsor (gay marriage) another will introduce legislation to invalidate United States v. Loving (interracial marriage) and a third will go for the big one Brown v Board of Education (if you don’t know what that one is, you likely voted for the failed game show host…)

I think it’s time to argue that ANY FIREARM, but especially those firearms intended for use on the battlefield, are as dangerous as IUDs and other forms of contraceptives and are a danger to the unborn—even those who have not been conceived.

Since there are some states considering legislation that force women impregnated through rape and incest to carry their violators baby to term, I think we might have an argument that women killed by a gun during their “age of fertility” are depriving the unborn eggs that die with her from the possibility of becoming children.

Is this realistic?

Probably not, but I also didn’t think it was realistic that we would let babies die and just say “thoughts and prayers,” “one good man with a gun,” and my favorite: “people who want to kill will find a way.”

Yes, they will, but do we have to make it so damn easy for them?

We need to come to the sad realization that the people in power—and the people they listen too—are more concerned about women choosing what to do with their bodies and pieces of plastic and copper inside a women’s reproductive system than they are about deranged White men shooting people.

That these shootings have become so common they no longer are considered “breaking news”

Just news…

Until Next Time

Beyond the Mountain Top

It’s both exhilarating and sad to realize just how much has changed, and how much hasn’t since April 3, 1968, when a man who wasn’t wanted by those who he was trying to help stepped up to the pulpit of the Mason Temple (Church of God in Christ Headquarters) in Memphis, Tennessee.

The third chapter of Taylor Branch’s powerful trilogy on the Civil Rights movement, “At Canaan’s Edge,” captures the weariness felt by the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. when he stood that night. It also reminds us that this man who was so hated, so vilified, so ridiculed, who had been on the battlefield for a decade by the time the Voting Rights Act was signed, was still willing to put himself out there because people needed him.

In the last years of his life, Dr. King was being hit from all directions because he knew that battle was still ongoing:

The “liberal” north was angry with him because he had the audacity to say that cities like Boston that were just as racist as Birmingham, they just weren’t as open about it.

Younger Black people, the people who were benefitting the most from the efforts of King and the rest of the civil rights movement, were starting to turn on him, calling him “Tom” for his simple belief that reaching his “Beloved Community” was going to involve everyone, not just Black people, and that it couldn’t be accomplished with the blind anger that had Watts, Newark, Detroit and so many other cities burning;

The federal government, which had been the civil rights movements partner (and sometimes protector) had turned its back on him, because he was starting to talk openly about the waste of talent and treasure the war in Vietnam was, and that there was still a need to finish what had just started in this country less than a decade before.

And, of course, there were those pesky Saltine southerners, who even as they were busy changing their political affiliation from Democrat to Republican, still had time to curse King for altering their “way of life.”

But he went to Memphis because it was the right thing to do.

The trip to Memphis in support of striking garbage workers was one that his supporters didn’t want him to take. Some in Memphis’ Black community didn’t want him there because they felt his presence there would do more harm than good. The more “radical” factions of that same community didn’t want to him there because they felt he was “begging the white man for scraps.”

That didn’t stop him from doing what was right.

I wrote about how Dr. King’s 35 words from 1963 have become a sword and shield for far too many of my melanin lacking friends on both the right AND the left. We must admit that parts of his last public sermon have become similarly trapped in amber:

“I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!”

I’m guilty of that myself.

Why?

Because it voiced hope, and back then, just like now, hope is a precious commodity.

But you want to know something?

Dr. King’s last sermon was a sermon of condemnation, a sermon reminding everyone in the audience that night there was so much work that still needed to be done—from both sides.

It was in this sermon he mentioned that of all the periods of time he wanted to see it would have been a few more years of the second half of the 20^th Century. Right after saying that he acknowledged:

“Now that’s a strange statement to make, because the world is all messed up. The nation is sick. Trouble is in the land; confusion all around.”

Sound familiar??

In 1968, he mentioned themes that reverberate 54 years later:

“The masses of people are rising up. And wherever they are assembled today, whether they are in Johannesburg, South Africa; Nairobi, Kenya; Accra, Ghana; New York City; Atlanta, Georgia; Jackson, Mississippi; or Memphis, Tennessee — the cry is always the same: ‘We want to be free.’”

Shortly after that, he gave a warning that resonates to this day—much to the chagrin of some people of a certain hue who wonder “haven’t we done enough for you colored folks?”

Back then and now, the answer is “no.”

“…if something isn’t done, and done in a hurry, to bring the colored peoples of the world out of their long years of poverty, their long years of hurt and neglect, the whole world is doomed.”

He reminded ALL SIDES the equation was simple—and the solution was just as simple:

“The issue is injustice. The issue is the refusal of Memphis to be fair and honest in its dealings with its public servants, who happen to be sanitation workers. Now, we’ve got to keep attention on that.”

And four decades before “24-hr news cycle” and talk show hosts who enjoy boosting their ratings and algorithms by focusing on the lowest common denominator, the most visceral reaction, he warned us what would happen:

“You know what happened the other day, and the press dealt only with the window-breaking. I read the articles. They very seldom got around to mentioning the fact that one thousand, three hundred sanitation workers are on strike, and that Memphis is not being fair to them, and that Mayor Loeb is in dire need of a doctor. They didn’t get around to that.”

1968, and Dr. King was describing to a T “divided/divisive” podcast hosts and AM/FM talk show hosts, who currently plague the airwaves and cyberspace.

(The really scary thing is he was describing a couple of the local pundits at least a decade before they were born.)

But in poking the eye of the White power structure, never forget that for Dr. King, non-violence was more than a catchphrase (like Make America Great Again). It was a sincere and sacred belief, and while he understood those who lashed out violently, he could not, would not, condone their actions. He reminded those who would call him “Tom” just how that played into the hands of the power structure they were trying to destroy:

“You know, whenever Pharaoh wanted to prolong the period of slavery in Egypt, he had a favorite, favorite formula for doing it. What was that? He kept the slaves fighting among themselves.”

But we should never forget that even with the condemnation, his final sermon was also an exhortation. It was a reminder that within the parable of the Good Samaritan there is a question that has been forgotten by too many:

“The question is not, “If I stop to help this man in need, what will happen to me?” The question is, “If I do not stop to help the sanitation workers, what will happen to them?” That’s the question.”

It would have been very easy for King to leave the battlefield; he had done more in 10 years than some people do in their lifetimes. But he lived his life with a simple belief.

“We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”

So on the 54^th Anniversary of when a coward took his life (a murder that 2-time Academy Award winner Walter Brennan celebrated with a dance), and with the continued effort to roll back the accomplishments that he gave his life for, take the time to read or listen to his “Mountain Top” sermon.

Learn a little more about a man who even when he had every right to be disappointed with humanity still believed there was a chance to do better, to reach that Beloved Community, and who understood that even though saw darkness knew that:

“When it is dark enough can you see the stars.”

Until Next Time…

Outside Looking In

Back in the day…

You are arguably the best player in baseball, because that guy in Seattle didn’t steal bases and chose power over average.

Yes, you’re a pain in the ass with the media, but so was Teddy ballgame and he still got into Cooperstown. Besides, being mean to the press didn’t dent your popularity with fans, who didn’t mind that your ego was bigger than the planet Jupiter.

But then, some of the fans stopped their adulation of you and started paying attention to an injury-plagued first baseman and a journeyman outfielder who were hitting home runs at a record pace…

And you got jealous,

And angry,

And you decided that if home runs were what would bring the fans attention back to you, then that’s what you would do:

BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY

The lithe, lean body that you came out of Pittsburgh with, swelled into something seen only in comic books and pro wrestling.

And you gave the people home runs, LOTS AND LOTS of home runs.

You bypassed the two unworthy claimants to the seasonal home run throne,

Bypassed your Godfather,

Said so long to the Sultan of Swat,

And bypassed a man who showed more class in the face of something far worse than you ever dealt with, then and now,

To sit alone at the top.

Except during that chase and afterwards, people stopped looking you in the eye,

And after hitting .276 with 28 home runs in your last season, no team would touch you,

And as soon as you “retired” others started bending themselves into rhetorical knots to justify, excuse, and ameliorate what you had done:

“He wouldn’t be the only the only Hall of Famer that is suspected…”
(But no one else went out of their way to flaunt it like you did..)

“He was already a Hall of Famer…BEFORE”
(and Mark Fidrych was a Hall of Famer BEFORE his arm went kablooie)

“What about greenies (amphetamines)? They’re just as bad…”
(Greenies kept you alert after a night of carousing with Baseball Annies, but they didn’t add approximately 35 pounds of muscle on top of the skills God gave you)

“He never failed a test
(Of course they weren’t testing when you went from Bruce Banner to the Hulk..but I digress…)

And, of course, the favorite of every child everywhere:

“Everyone else was doing it…”
(So, I guess jumping off a bridge is all right as long as everyone else is doing it!!)

There’s a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth right now about how this is an injustice, but let’s also admit that if the Baseball Writers of America, the people responsible for keeping you on the outside looking in, came to you and said:

“Here’s the deal, we’ll let you in, but your plaque is going to say:

Barry Lamar Bonds
Pittsburgh Pirates 1986-1992,
San Francisco Giants 1993-2007
National League MVP a record 7 times,
Holds the MLB record for
Home Runs in a season (73)
Career Home Runs (762)
Is suspected of using performance enhancing drugs in the
later half of his career
Convicted of obstruction of justice after the federal investigation into steroids in baseball (though the conviction was overturned)

You would tell them no because, once again, your ego is the size of Jupiter.

You have a right to be proud, you did put in the sweat and work to do what is arguably the toughest thing to do is sports… “hit a round ball with a round bat squarely.”

And you want to know something, no one can take that from you ever—that will be the first sentence of your NY Times Obit: “Barry Bonds, one of the greatest players in the history of Major League Baseball.”

But chances are the second sentence will be: “Who was denied entrance into the Baseball Hall of Fame because of his suspected use of performance enhancing drugs…”

Because at the end of the day there’s another word for excessive pride or self-confidence, which Barry Bonds has in abundance…

Hubris.

Add hubris to jealousy and you have the perfect toxic mix that ensures that Bonds has joined Jackson, Rose, and Clemens on the outside of Cooperstown, looking in.

And that is sad, because in the end, he didn’t need to do the things that lead to this sad day for baseball fans everywhere:

He chose to.

Until Next Time…

35 words

I want to focus on some words you might be hearing today.

35 words that have become an integral part of this weekend of celebration, remembrance, and rededication to the movement that helped reduce (not end, but reduce) apartheid in America.

35 words that have become the defensive shield for far too many White people in this country when we discuss race in America:

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”

You know, for far too many of my melanin-lacking compatriots, those are the only words they know from the Rev. Dr. King, and when they repeat them, it’s with the smug satisfaction that only comes when you believe there’s nothing more that needs to be said.

“I don’t have to talk to you about Race, I’ve said those 35 words, or a combination thereof, leave me alone.”

Because as far as they’re concerned, the sermon on that day consisted of ONLY those 35 words, and they believe in saying those 35 words, they have fulfilled their obligation to the “Beloved Community”

All you asked for is to be judged by the content of your character. I do that, why do you continue to ask for things?”

What these White folks neglect, ignore, or refuse to acknowledge, is those 35 words, which we really only hear on January 15, the third Monday in January, and whenever racists are caught being racist, were part of a 1667 WORD SERMON DELIVERED ON THAT DAY IN 1963.

Why only those words? Because it’s much easier to focus on 35 words than to listen, really listen, to the other 1632 words that were part of his sermon that day.

Those 1632 words are as searing today as they were back then. Words that even after almost 60 years since they were originally spoken, are still an indictment about the treatment of Blacks, and all people of color in this country, then and now:

“But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we’ve come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.”

While I concede there has been advancements since 1963, those 92 words are a little harder to celebrate, because we know many of the conditions Dr. King spoke of back then, are still very prevalent right now—the only things that have changed are the words we use for them.

I suspect the members of Congress still trying to curry favor with the defeated former game show host will blithely skip past these 44 words that focused on a country that had failed to fulfill its promise:

“It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked ‘insufficient funds.’”

Because it is far easier to satisfy your racist base by using just 35 specific words, (especially since they have stopped caring about the character of certain people—such as the defeated former game show host) then try to explain why that even though we have done so much, we have not come close to reaching the goal set out on that day in 1963.

For those who say: “But I voted for Obama, don’t lump me with ‘those’ people,” here are 164 words to remind you that it takes a little more than voting for a competent candidate that happened to be Biracial to accomplish true equity. A reminder that again, while some things have changed, we have seen far too many of you stay silent while people who look like you gleefully march in lockstep (goose-step??) back to “separate, and unequal.”

“There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, “When will you be satisfied?” We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: “For Whites Only.” We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote, and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until “justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

Another 112 words are a warning that still holds true:

“It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.”

You see, it’s easy for both sides of the White political spectrum to focus on just 35 words, because for real he came after you with this sermon.

(And while not part of the sermon that warm August day in 1963, Dr. King made his feelings on those who stood on the sideline clear: “The white liberal must see that the Negro needs not only love but also justice. It is not enough to say, “We love Negroes, we have many Negro friends.” They must demand justice for Negroes. Love that does not satisfy justice is no love at all.”)

The 35 words are “happy talk.”

Those who see only those 35 words out of the 1667 spoken that day fail to understand (or again, choose to ignore) the work that he said had to happen to reach the goals encapsulated in that simple sentence.

Those 35 words were aspirational—and it angers and disappoints me to my soul that so many have decided that mouthing these words on this day means we have accomplished what he was speaking about.

Because you know what happened 18 DAYS after his sermon in Washington D.C.?

On September 15, 1963, 4 White men—whose relatives I would put money on were part of the 74 million who voted for the former game show host—blew up a church and killed 4 Black girls.

Those terrorists cared not about content or character, they cared only about the color of the skin of Addie Mae Collins, Carole Robertson, Cynthia Wesley, and Denise McNair.

Remember that before you focus on those 35 words today.

And for those—and you know who you are—that enjoy parroting “that’s ancient history, that’s all in the past,” I have a name for you:

Maxine McNair.

She was the mother of 11-year-old Denise McNair, the youngest girl killed in the racist bombing of Birmingham’s 16th Street Baptist Church.

Maxine McNair’s died on January 2, 2022. You can’t get more recent than that.

This is only ancient history if you choose to see it that way.

And if you do—shame on you.

Until next time…

Justice–For Now

I was wrong—and I couldn’t be happier about it.

Last May, I wrote these words

And we know how this will go, because we’ve seen it too many times:

The dead Black man will be devolved into a creature deserving of death.
The good officers will stay silent, protecting the murderer(s) because “the only color we see is blue.”
The justifiable cry of frustration (marches, riots) over another Black man taken by law enforcement will degenerate into memes about “I hope they identify them all and take away their welfare” and “all lives matter.”
The Justice Department (ESPECIALLY THE CURRENT JUSTICE DEPARTMENT) will investigate and say they couldn’t find a reason to charge the officers.
After a delay of months—possibly years—those responsible will be found not guilty or there will be a mistrial/hung jury, because we have to understand these officers lay their lives on the line every day and unfortunately this “occasionally happens.”

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

I wrote those words because I have seen variations of what I wrote above happen too many times in too many places:

In Simi Valley

In the streets of Cleveland

In New York

In a bedroom in Louisville

I wrote those words because I had grown to mistrust the justice system when it came to this type of case:

Prosecutors didn’t seem to have their hearts in prosecuting police officers,
Defense attorneys appeared to be given free rein in making the victim the one on trial,
Fellow officers would come to the defense of the miscreant, no matter how heinous the act was,
And—I’m sorry but I have to say it—there was always one juror (and we would find out after the trial it was almost always a WHITE juror) that decided the officer had a right to protect themselves from the SCARY BLACK PERSON, even when that victim was handcuffed, sleeping, or just being a child.

So I have to admit that I was steeling myself for a verdict that would perpetuate that pattern; a jury that would take days to reach a decision, and come back with a verdict that would acquit the coward of the stiffest charges and leave him with a wrist slap.

I’m glad I was wrong. I’m glad that some of my faith in the system was restored.

But there is a reality that we still have to face.

This was the original notice of what happened to George Floyd:

It was the courage of those who surrounded the coward who killed George Floyd that we found out the truth.

And even with that OVERWHELMING EVIDENCE, my chest still got tight when the reports started coming across that the verdict was in.

There was justice today—but George Floyd is still dead—and there’s a good chance the coward who killed him will serve less than 20 years for killing him (and will likely get a big Fox News send off before he starts serving his sentence).

There was justice today—but there’s still work to do. That work is best described in this tweet that came across my feed:

“A lot of ppl feel relief, but there is a certain type of relief I’m seeing in my inbox, group chats, TL, & on TV that is a special kind of non-Black relief. Like “it’s over.” Just know for those of us who are Black, we took a breath, but we know we still can’t fully breathe.

The simple reality is:

As long as people who look like me are getting killed over air fresheners.

(By the way—considering what has occurred [AND CONTINUES TO OCCUR] in Minnesota, I’ve decided that it’s best for my health that I add that state to the states South of the Mason-Dixon line that I have no plan on visiting….)

As long as people who are in uniform and look like me are being pepper sprayed and being threatened with “Riding the Lightning.”

As long as we have sheriffs calling on paper carriers and expressing more sympathy for the deputy who shoots teenagers than for the DEAD TEENAGER.

We still have a long way to go–and we are still trying to breathe.

Until Next Time…

April 4, 1968

Over the last week, I’ve seen how far we have come—and how much work still needs to be done.

On March 25th, King County Metro Transit unveiled work done by 3 Metro employees of their interpretations of “Black Lives Matter” (full disclosure: I’m both a King County and Metro Transit employee)

I’ve been around for a while, and I’m at the point in my life where very little surprises me.

The positive response to the art—not supporting any organization, but the artist’s expression of the pain and pride of their African American brothers and sisters—took my breath away.

There was a tremendous sense of accomplishment by those who were at the artists celebration and viewed the work. I saw a few tears as well.

But along with the sense of pride—there were those who were not happy.

The expected and standard “Seattle is dying” tripe that has become the reflexive response whenever people north of the Ship Canal have their memories of “growing up” challenged is there.

But also, something more insidious.

It was best captured by one comment, which because of Metro comment standards, has been removed—the comment ended with:

“I hope they put Floyd’s face on the seats so we can repeat what happened to him”

The venom spewed, the cowardly (since most of the comments are anonymous) responses toward this artistic expression, reminded me of an asinine post that came across my Facebook page a few years back:

Technically the post is right—Chattel Slavery –in this form—has been gone for quite a while—but slavery in other forms…

Sharecropping was a form of slavery that existed well into the last century, and sharecropping’s impact still resonates since many descendants of those slaves fled the south to escape the cruelty of the new version of the old “Peculiar Institution,” only to run into something that was just as insidious..

Jim Crow—blatant in the south/subtle in the north—enslaved generations, telling people of a certain hue where they could live, work, spend their money, even where they could pee. Currently we’re seeing examples that Mr. Crow still exist…through the attacks in Georgia and a number of other states over the most basic of American acts—the ability to vote.

Again, the post is right—there are no people from the period when Black people were considered property that are alive right now, but the GRANDCHILDREN of the people that were property are still alive, in their 80’s and 90’s, but alive…(as are the grandchildren of the people who owned the “property”)

I mention both the BLM artwork and the slavery post because today, April 4, we observe the anniversary of a very dark day in American history…

If not for James Earl Ray, Dr. King would have (hopefully) been 92—and we can only wonder what would have happened to America—and the world—if he had not gone out onto the balcony of that Memphis hotel…

A man whose grandparents WERE SLAVE BORN spent his short time on this earth asking Americans to acknowledge their past—even when it was hard—because that was the first step toward building a better future…

Should we focus on the past alone? No. But to tell people we won’t move forward if we keep looking at the past shows a naivety—and ignorance—that I continue to believe we will grow out of.

The past helps form the present and the present can and should be used to shape the future.

Right now, in the present, we are seeing far too often the “dark side” of that humanity in many forms—from assaults on our Asian elders to the potential denial of food and water to people waiting in line to vote.

Dr. King used the past as a step to develop a better present, with the sincere goal of achieving a future that would fulfill his faith in the “Beloved Community.” He didn’t see it happen, and folks my age probably won’t see it either, but like Dr. King, I believe in my heart it will come, and that hopefully my child and her friends will be part of that community.

“Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people will get to the Promised Land.”

Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr
1929-1968

Until Next Time….

Thank you, Mr. Limbaugh

In the midst of snow, freezing temperatures, and obscene profits in energy markets, a person of some note passed away last week.

For some of the 74 million people who voted for the former occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave., this person was their John the Baptist. This person was, if you can forgive me for mangling scripture, their “voice of one calling in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the former game show host.’”

For some of the 74 million people who voted for the former occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave., this person was their LIVING EMBODIMENT of a TV character from yesteryear, unrepentant, unapologetic, and proud of it.

For some of the 74 million people who voted for the former occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.,this person was—to borrow from the eulogy of another great American hero, who many believed spoke the truth and was vilified for it–their “Whitehood, our living Whitehood!”

So as the human remains of Rush Hudson Limbaugh III, talk show host, cancer survivor, philanthropist, are laid to rest (with some thinking that there but for the grace of voters in Georgia, he most likely would have lied in state in the U.S. Capitol).

I, to paraphrase one W. Shakespeare, “have not come to bury Rush Limbaugh, but to praise him.”

I want to praise him for his entertainment skills—because for some of the 74 million people who voted for the former occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.—Limbaugh made them laugh.

Like the time he joked about the life altering disease of a fellow entertainer (who ironically enough, came to fame playing a character who would have been a fan of Rush)

But don’t forget, those people who praised him say that he was “just an entertainer”