The Atlanta Riots - Part II

As I was writing the first part of this, I had this strange feeling of deja vu, so I went back to see what I had written in the past about this incident. I could not find it here, then remembered that I had probably written about this experience for the class I taught ten years ago! Although I won't be looking through the crates to see what I wrote then, it was interesting to look back through some of what I wrote here during that time period. Perhaps I need to repost and update a few things to demonstrate how my voice has evolved. Nevertheless, back to my analysis of the Atlanta Riots some 25 years later. 

I confirmed with a friend who graduated that year that my recollection of how the situation ended and quickly returned to what we would call normal was accurate. I went home, started a summer job, and here I am 25 years later trying to understand what we did and how it informs my opinions of what I see in police protests and interactions today.

Rodney King to Mike Brown to Freddie Gray
We were rightfully outraged by the King verdict, which to many of us proved that race almost always colors how people see the same incidents. None of us students felt that King's drug use justified such a savage beating. In hindsight, I still don't, especially as we compare it to the riots that engulfed Baltimore just two years ago or that took place in Ferguson, Missouri months earlier. The names are different, but the results and the finger-pointing are the same--the victims are blamed for escalating police behavior.

As we head into our first summer under the regime of a President who has been overtly supportive of the police tactics that have been practiced in all three of these confrontations, I am worried. It bothers me that when Rodney King was beaten for resisting arrest, we were told that he provoked their response. The same has been said about Mike Brown even though it is unclear if he resisted arrest. And as for Freddie Gray, that situation is so muddled and messy...

But what about those instances when the victim complies and still gets wounded or dies? What about Philando Castille, Eric Garner, Sandra Bland and Tamir Rice? How many more names do we add to that sad roll of inquiry before anyone acknowledges that the power to deescalate a potentially volatile situation resides with the person/people holding the lethal weapons with the power of the state encrusted on their lapels?

Public Protests and Black Lives Matter
I just happened to read another negative reaction to Black Lives Matter (BLM) and as I try not to dismiss that point of view, it occurs in the backdrop of a completely unrelated post a friend wrote about public Confederate monuments. However, in both situations, we are dealing with perspective.

And when I delve into how we perceive race and law enforcement in their historical intersections, then these two matters are not all that distinct. As a BLM supporter, I have never regarded the statement nor the movement as elevating one race over another. It has always been about demanding the humanization of black/brown lives. Similarly, as a person who has absolutely no sympathy for the Confederacy, I cannot regard monuments to the Lost Cause as honorable. Quite frankly, I believe that your revered ancestors died to preserve a system and way of life that did not regard black and brown lives as having any human value. Period.

Yet, when asked to consider the opposite viewpoints--that of law enforcement facing the hostility of an enraged mob or that of a Southerner seeking to reconcile the contradictions of family honor, I get it. Perhaps it is too easy to demonize police actions as overzealous in complicated situations. And maybe it is intellectually lazy to assume that every Confederate was an unrepentant racist. Alternatively, thousands take to the streets to march and protest in support of black/brown victims because we believe they had rights, irrespective of their bad or questionable behavior. If I can see the humanity in my neighbor who is a police officer or of a long-dead Confederate general who sincerely believed in my ancestors' inferiority, then surely you can muster up a modicum of human compassion for the mother whose child was taken from her prematurely under questionable circumstances.

We are all accountable for our actions--victim, oppressor, citizen, undocumented, insurrectionist, civil servant, rich, poor, black, white, President, soldier, civilian, sinner, and saint.

The Atlanta Riots - Part I

I was listening to the radio this morning and the story that caught my attention was a commemoration of the Los Angeles riots 25 years ago. It triggered my memory of the uprising that took place in Atlanta at the same time. This piece is not to compare the events because the country was rightfully riveted by the conflagration of Los Angeles in the aftermath of a very controversial verdict in the trial of the officers charged with beating Rodney King. Even if I could articulate a perspective on what went on in LA, it occurs alongside what I/we experienced in Atlanta and it is through that lens that I offer these thoughts.

It was the end of the semester. The night that the verdict was announced, many of us were at King's Chapel for the Miss Maroon and White pageant, which was to be the final show of the semester before exams. This is the time before smartphones, so the news did not come to us via Twitter. We found out because someone had been watching CNN during a break in the show. While we were waiting for the announcement of the court, someone took to the stage to announce the verdict.

Next I remember a lot of discussion and honestly, I don't recall that we processed the news as being nearly as serious until later on in the dorms. That is when we saw the first news reports of rioting in Los Angeles.

Somehow, we got word that a protest rally would be taking place the next day. Again, this is in the era before the internet or social media, so it was spread via word of mouth, which meant information was all over the place. A few of us decided to attend the protest, and walked out of Spelman's front gate without knowing what to expect.

At this point, I need to insert some commentary about the events that followed, because this is my memory and it is subject to my personal biases. Which may or may not reflect what actually happened to those who were active and visible participants...but it is what I observed, and in some cases, what I experienced. It might not be a flattering recollection either, but I want to emphasize that often in circumstances of chaos, there are not always bright lines of right and wrong.

Transparency

I had a really bad weekend.

I left the house last night with the alleged intention of going to the movies, but changed my mind when I thought that it might be too pathetic (but more importantly, unsafe). So I went to Target to return a $5 DVD in exchange for $100 worth of stuff.

The mundane details of today are unimportant, because there was nothing really bad that happened to make me so sad. It was more a series of events that have been unfolding since mid-week. Beginning with a phone call that jarred me concerning something that happened to someone else. I had a very emotional reaction, but then went into problem-solving mode, which helped me temporarily until Thursday. I went over to see my parents and that triggered this slide that has me back in the depths of inconsolable sadness.

Since January, the situation with my mother has been changing, and not for the best. It has been depressing and emotionally overwhelming to experience, and the background turmoil of family drama has made things pretty bad.

I have already alluded to some of my issues in previous posts, but I need to let down my guards somewhat because I feel that I have no other outlet. And while I'm convinced that no one reading this will be able to offer me anything, I just need to get a lot of this off my heart.

My Dad is falling apart because taking care of my Mom and watching her deteriorate is unbearable. He has been dealing with small, nagging health issues that I am convinced are stress-related. But he will not make any changes to his daily habits or routine to deal with things, so like yesterday, he comes home not feeling well and chugs down a glass of soda...I have no idea how to support him in a way that does not backfire and deepen my own misery and sense of total helplessness.

Watching this unfold and not being able to really get any relief is killing both of us softly. Which is part of the reason for my ire at other members of my family. I am still angry with myself for not properly defending my Dad against a sideswipe earlier this year, and when it redirected and came for me, I became and remain furious. And unwilling to forgive. That is totally uncharacteristic of me, and that only intensifies my emotions.

I am trapped in an unending cycle of bitterness and anger and sadness. I cannot break it by pretending that all is well. I cannot break it by focusing on others, not even by focusing on my daughter. Because after I have given every drop of emotional care and concern to others, nothing is left for me. Nothing.

And no one notices. My husband, who is just as unobservant and clueless as my Dad (who didn't notice what was going on with his wife of 35+ years) is incapable of offering me any form of emotional support. And after 20 years, I don't expect that to ever change. Like my Mom when she was well, he can offer the support that others need, but when it comes to his wife, he expects me to be able to shake it off and get over it. Ironic that I would marry my parents...

And my friends, y'all don't notice shit either. When you need me, you call and I am there. If I call, you are busy--out having fun, never inviting me to come along, and then wondering why I never talk about things. Perhaps that is unfair, but it is how I perceive things. I spent the entire weekend sad and alone and saw all the pics of places I could have gone but for the lack of inclusion.

Finally, it hurts beyond words to witness my mother's decline like this. It is incomparable to any other experience of losing one's parent. That doesn't mean that one death is worse than another, because anyone who has endured that loss feels it forever. But I am simply saying that Alzheimer's disease, in particular, is a horrible death to experience. Despite the miracle that some hope will occur, this is a very long and excruciating goodbye. My sense of loss became real the week that I insisted that she be hospitalized...and it is a daily dread.

I am not ready, but I am holding on to that mustard seed that tells me all will be well. It might not be the type of bold faith that believes in abundance and prosperity and dominion; it is a much quieter faith that believes in forgiveness, blessing others, and endurance until the end.

Worst Enemies

This is a followup to the last piece, so vagueness is necessary to protect the guilty and the innocent.

In addition to my own bad habits, I have situations that keep me from being great. Like my child, who often does her best to get me to pay attention to her while I am trying to write. Or those people who essentially stand around and watch as my life falls apart, then they criticize me either for not doing enough or doing too much. I call them the Saboteurs, which is a nice French way of calling folks assholes.

My daughter is not really a Saboteur, she is a toddler. A needy, tantrum-throwing, yet sweet and endearing child who is about to celebrate her second birthday. She is supposed to wreak havoc with my schedule by throwing a random fit when I try to get her to put on her shoes. Or when I ask her to stop kicking me. Or when I switch the channel from watching the same episode of Sesame Street that we just watched an hour earlier.

But the adults? Total assholes.

So this situation that has been stressing me since January involves a bunch of folks who would rather stand around and complain about things instead of actually doing anything. One person actually issued a threat, but to date, it was just more hot air blown into their balloon of complaints. But it hit its mark and I have the extra fifteen pounds to show for the toll all of that drama it took on me.

Because what else can you do when you are angry, bitter, depressed and hurt by a baseless allegation that was intended to bait you into the most unnecessary counter-productive conflict at the absolute worst time of your life? You stop taking care of yourself. And you start to look your age. And you eat your feelings because no one really wants to hear about how angry, bitter, depressed or hurt you feel.

Those feelings you are eating taste a lot like breakfast danishes, fried chicken, pizza, and Chinese take out that you wash down with soda.

And you do this alone because you are always alone. You sleep alone, wherever you fall asleep (usually on the sofa). You talk to your not-yet-two-year old daughter because no one else has time. Sometimes you talk to yourself because she is busy watching the same episode of Sesame Street over and over again. You wash, rinse and repeat the same pattern for weeks.

You notice that your clothes are fitting tighter and that you are eating a lot less salad. You look at your face and notice that the dark circles around your eyes never fade. You keep trying to do the right thing even though the Saboteurs don't care and will continue to point out the one or two tasks that they can do are beyond what anyone should expect from them.

Meanwhile, you worry whether your rambunctious not-yet-two year old is developing on schedule because there is no one around who can tell you anything supportive. You don't have other mothers in your circle (you do, but they have lives and don't seem to have time). So you stay up late to work on projects to help her grasp certain concepts. Like talking (because that language class you took last summer didn't seem to help). You try to expose her to various things, which takes you away from your other obligations, so you feel guilty.

You always feel guilty, so you eat. And you drink. And stop trying to go to dance class. And you stop attending meetings. And you realize that you have to step down or step away or decline projects because of the drama in your life. And your anger becomes resentment and your bitterness becomes poison and your depression deepens. And then you worry too much that you aren't doing enough, so you compensate by running errands. Which means you are always in motion doing for everybody else.


You are taking some time to write about it because that is the only way to release any pressure. It is an emotional exercise, but necessary. Still solitary and often futile. But it offers some peace at times. Because none of the Saboteurs read anything you write.

Better Intentions

I have been at this precise place so many times--regret that I didn't live up to the expectations I set for myself. Disappointment that I am always seemingly starting over from the same place, beginning again at the beginning.

This year is already a wash.

I had plans. I had intentions. I had goals. Yet here I am, with nothing to show for any of those lofty hopes and dreams. I am standing in the same sad spot and always for the same reason: My inability to put my needs above those of the members of my family.

Which family member? It never really matters. With the addition of a child, it would seem that I have an acceptable reason for never accomplishing much of anything, except that isn't the case. My daughter inspires my need to actually push myself to be more than just another frustrated, reluctant housewife turned obscure, undiscovered blogger. And as she has grown from sweet baby to this unruly, insane Toddlersaurus, I should have endless material from her daily antics. According to my blog journal (the notebook I carry to jot down blogging ideas) I could perpetually write about busy black motherhood and possibly *finally* garner a following.

Yes, I have a blog journal. It was part of the elaborate plan that has yet to materialize thanks to that other unyielding demand that I am always trying to manage. That other familial obligation that I am trying desperately not to resent, because that would be selfish. And we all know that whenever I focus any attention to myself, for whatever reason...

Yet, this did not begin with the choice to focus on myself insomuch as it feels like it began with the intention to do so. My intention to devote more time to writing and live vlogging and starting a podcast and a few other projects...all on the back burner because at the beginning of the year, a new chapter began in my long-running family drama. Which has left me bitter and angry and depressed. And eating all the time. Or sleeping. Or intentionally missing certain social engagements. Or doing drastic shit like chopping off my hair and dyeing it different colors including platinum blonde. Or not sleeping.

(I actually plan to write about this situation in a more direct form, but now I need to vent without identifying or defaming anyone.)

So here I am. Angry. Bitter. Depressed. Hurt. And feeling all of the guilt that was intended for me to feel because somehow, I am the only person who has any responsibility...

For the record, in the interest of trying to move beyond the anger, bitterness, depression, hurt, and guilt I have been willing to continue to make the uncomfortable choices. To be the person in the line of fire. To be Atticus Finch and do those unpleasant jobs that no one else wants. And it hasn't meant anything. I am still standing in the same fucking spot.

So, I am going to write anyway to try to work through all of my feelings. I've decided that this situation is less about my better intentions than it is about adjusting my expectations. I will simply write to let go of things and maybe that will help.

Oscars So Black?

Every year I offer my take on the Academy Awards, and this year was just WOW! As the title implies, this might have been the blackest Oscar ceremony yet, and yes, I am using the word black to describe how much of a complete 180-degree turn this year was after two straight years of being so white. Here is my (belated) top ten list of great Oscar moments:

1. Jimmy Kimmel: Hands down, one of the funniest hosts of the ceremony in many years. I know how much people love Billy Crystal, Whoopie Goldberg, Ellen DeGeneris, and Steve Martin and I love them all as well. But given how entertaining this new crop of late night talent is, we should never have to sit through another boring four-hour Oscar telecast ever again...

2. Mahershala Ali: Well, I expected this, so my hope is that his moment and enormous talent will not end up wasted like so many other best supporting actors, especially those of color. Hollywood tends to get it right when it comes to this category, with rarely any controversy or undeserved accolades, but then there is the dilemma of how best to showcase that talent beyond that particular film. Here's to hoping for better opportunities for non A-listers who consistently perform on A-list level.

3. The Documentary Film Category: This caught me completely by surprise. I was familiar with a couple of the films that had been nominated, but it did not register that four of the five had African American directors. Perhaps this recognition will offer more opportunities for directing bigger studio projects, which brings me to the significance of...

4. Moonlight: I saw this film on a whim one afternoon and I am so glad that I did. I knew about the film from the heavy promotion it received locally, especially on public radio and ironically, on Facebook. I left the film believing it to be somewhat over-hyped because of its subtlety, but I never felt that it was undeserving of the critical attention it received. Then as the momentum built towards awards season, I watched several interviews with the stars, the screenwriter and the director which offered me the chance to reconsider whether I had missed something. I had. I had completely missed how Moonlight was one of the few films about African American life that was not placed in a historical framework. It was not one of the typical important films, just a really good one that told a story that allowed audiences to discover its merit.

I know that there are various conspiracy theories about the evening's cliffhanger regarding the best picture announcement. I am not all that concerned that Faye Dunaway got it wrong (on purpose or accidentally on purpose)...nor do I feel all that bad about the "lost" moment for the Moonlight cast and crew to bask in the glory of the win. For me, all that matters is that this year a black director got to take home the statuette, and every time that happens, it makes the odds so much more favorable for the next black (brown, Asian, female, gay, etc.) director.

Finally, the Moonlight adapted screenplay win is also very important for future projects. As much as I enjoy historical pieces, it is equally necessary for there to be a variety of options for black directors when it comes to the types of films they get to contribute. If we only hand out statues for so called "important" films that only present black life through struggle and triumph, then we never really move beyond the two-dimensional limits that bring only certain films to wider audiences. I am happy to see a film like Hidden Figures in the mix, but I also want more opportunities to see other films like...

5. Fences: And I will count myself in the minority by arguing that it would have been way too black if Denzel had won (not that I would have objected)...but it is more fitting that Viola Davis finally won for best supporting actress, even if we all know it was a cheat. Denzel probably won't get another Oscar any time soon, but perhaps he can get out-streep Meryl and get nominated for everything he touches, even perhaps earning an Emmy nod for marrying that couple during that bit from the ceremony.

Seriously, I am glad that August Wilson's work will finally be more accessible to audiences beyond the theatre. It is fitting for Viola Davis to finally win an Oscar for Fences since she is one of the many actresses who have brought Wilson's work to life. Denzel now has a stronger platform from which he can help launch some up and coming or undiscovered talent, which is ultimately more important than winning an Academy Award this year.

6. Lin-Manuel Miranda: He is my boo...and as much as I LOVE the Hamilton soundtrack, his song "How Far I'll Go" for Moana sounded a lot like every other song on the Hamilton soundtrack. He is a tremendous talent, though, so he can be forgiven for relying on what works best for him (since it seems to work well for everyone else in the music categories). I am looking forward to watching his career continue to explode.

7. Foreign Language Film: That moment was absolutely the most defiant act of the night! Too bad I never bother to see the foreign language films...of course now, I might have to make an effort. By boycotting the ceremony, Iranian director Asghar Farhadi made the blackest statement ever since Chris Rock's opening monologue last year. Given the injunction against the travel ban, Farhadi could have gotten a visa to come. But it is obvious from his statement that he was far more interested in highlighting how the travel ban had far-reaching implications for various types of visitors to the States. And if protest against injustice is not the epitome of blackness, then I don't know what else is.

8. Emma Stone and Casey Affleck: The two major awardees who aren't hardly black...starring in films that weren't hardly black...but they deserve an honorable mention for being the minorities this year. Congratulations!

9. Gary from Chicago: I mean, yeah. On the tour bus with his boo of 20 years. Grabbing Mahershala's Oscar during a selfie. Getting married by Denzel. Becoming a Twitter sensation and a FB meme. Then being dragged for being a returning citizen. Yep.

10. Halle Barry's Afro: I am absolutely in the minority, but I LOVED her hair! And I think all of the criticism of her choice is a reflection of our need to be more open to unconventional expressions of beauty. On the one hand, we argue that natural hair is mainstream and beautiful, but then we spend half the night dissing Halle for wearing a big fluffy Afro! In the very year that the Oscars were this black, someone needed to rock a fro and why not Halle?

And those are just my initial thoughts on this year's ceremony. I have a little more to offer, so stay tuned.

Depression for Dummies

Depression is real. Depression is not just in my head.

NO, I CANNOT JUST GET OVER IT.

Happiness may be a choice. Depressed people try to choose happiness. But something makes that choice seem impossible in any number of circumstances. It would help tremendously if people understood that. I can be happy in a moment. I have moments of joy. But I can still suffer from depression in those moments.

One analogy I can think of is getting dressed during the winter. I can put on layers of clothing to keep warm, but if any skin gets exposed, I can still get cold. With depression, I can participate in a joyful celebration but if something goes wrong, it can ruin the experience for me. (And not necessarily the entire experience, just that specific aspect.) Most people would argue "Everything else went great, why can't you just get over it?" Because that is how depression works--I just can't get over it.

I just had yet another very futile "conversation" with the husband wherein his understanding of my issues boils down to his fundamental misunderstanding and, as far as I am concerned, his unwillingness to try.

I understand that it is hard to invest the emotional capital in someone who suffers with chronic depression. It is much easier to just walk away and leave them alone. I know because get left alone all the time. I am not suggesting that loving someone with depression is futile. It just means that you have to find a way to love that person to reassure them that no matter what, everything will be alright. I know that my family prefers to keep me at arm's length because it is easier for them. I just wish someone would make the effort to love me through my depression instead of in spite of it.

I didn't intend to spend this much effort on this topic, but I really needed to vent. I am going through another debilitating episode that has kept me pretty much confined to the house for the past month. I have gone out, but only as necessary. I have been trying...I bought some new lipstick and drastically cut my hair. I also admitted that I am going through something to others, which is rare because I never talk about my issues with others. I stopped short of telling people that I was depressed, but I was honest that I am dealing with a lot of drama that has left me anxious, frustrated and emotionally exhausted. People are a little more encouraging when you can offer specific terms to describe your feelings.

Just know that telling me to feel better is counter-productive. Telling me to pray is not offering a solution. Neither is expressing frustration that your efforts aren't helping (because my depression is not about you, it is about me). It would help if you stopped to listen, really listen without always trying to offer a fix. It is nice of you to pray for me, but how about inviting me to pray with you? If I cannot express exactly what is wrong, there might be any number of reasons why, but getting annoyed and giving up on me will only hasten a shutdown.

If any of this sounds familiar because you recognize yourself or someone else you know, I hope this gives you a primer on depression (not a clinical one, but a personal one). Maybe it will help you to become a better friend to someone who cannot always muster up the energy to be bothered with life beyond a self-contained bubble. I want to get through this, but I need help.