Covid-19: Politics, Projections, and Mortality

The confluence of politics, culture, and disease is unfolding in real time. The overlap of regions following social distancing guidelines and those which are not, with voting trends and support for the Affordable Care Act and Medicaid expansion is striking and will have life and death consequences.

With all the information out there regarding Covid-19 I feel like this platform can be most useful for (1) highlighting under-reported stories and (2) pointing readers to the best resources amidst the crisis. As a reminder to readers who don’t know. I have a MPH and worked in public health in over a dozen countries for nearly 20 years.

In that spirit, here is what I’m watching. 

Death Rate: The doubling in the US death rate from 1000 to 2000 in just 24 hours was terrifying for me. Doubling in just 24 hours is a red flag. (For a great video on exponential growth in outbreaks check out this link.)    Since then, the rate seems to have “slowed” to doubling roughly 48 to 36 hours. This is still worrisome. The death rates give us some limited data that allows us to extrapolate the prevalence, since mortality is pretty unequivocal and does not require a testing kit. That said, the “hopeful” bit of news here is that mortality rates have a 2 to 5 week lag due to the incubation period of the virus and the time it can take to be fatal. That means patients passing away now are folks who might have caught the virus as long ago as president’s day weekend (mid February). So there is reason to hope that social distancing and enhanced awareness of sanitation and hygiene measures will help. The impact of these low tech solutions is of course blunted by the second phenomenon I’m keeping an eye on.

Patchwork Coverage and Politicized Responses: Initial data is beginning to demonstrate that in at least the Washington State outbreak, the curve have been flattened—at least to a greater extent than New York State’s. However, as there are dozens of states and even more counties without social distancing measures, one region’s success might be compromised by a neighboring one’s delay in acting. 

It’s undeniable, and sobering, to see how the two maps here reflect the extent to which politics will have impact on how the virus spreads. It’s undeniable that (1) regions that are traditionally conservative and “red” states have continued with business as normal approach without limiting travel or implementing social distancing; (2) these are also regions where conservative leaders have resisted expanding Medicaid. At this point the numbers and nature are unstoppable. These regions are going to be walloped. Not to be glib, but the liberal critique that conservatives have been convincing voters in these regions to vote against the ACA and other policies which would be in their best interest, is going to have grisly consequences. The optics of long lines outside hospitals and more makeshift morgues might alter some of the cultural/political/ethnic tribalism politicians have whipped up in order to stay in power in these states. It will be interesting to see where public opinion moves.

Projections: Last Monday’s projections of 100K to 240K deaths have already been revised upwards. This doesn’t surprise me as even those initial projections were “best case” scenarios and the sad truth is that we have not had the proper preparation for a “best case scenario” response. I believe we still need to brace ourselves for anything within the original range presented by the Imperial College of London. Refresher: they projected 2 million deaths in the US alone if nothing was done. 

For best understanding for crisis facing hospitals click here. 

For best explanations for what to expect over the coming months click here. 

Stay tuned. Wash your hands. Stay home when you can. Order groceries by delivery if you can. Thank the grocery clerks, trash collectors, and of course hospital clinic personnel—from nurses/doctors to social workers and admins working who must remain working at this time.  

Be kind. This is a marathon, not a sprint.

Covid-19: Please leave the messaging and modeling to the experts

Readers of this blog would be forgiven for forgetting that I have a Master’s in Public Health. I worked in the field of public health in over a dozen countries for close to twenty years. With that qualifier, please read my message to non-public health scientists jumping in on health messaging during the Covid-19 crisis.

If you are a scientist in a field other than public health, posting your opinions on social media and contributing to the dialogue around Covid-19 as an “expert,” I have a message for you: please stop. Despite your desire to help and your considerable training, in these matters you must hold yourself to the same standard as our colleagues in the medical profession: do no harm. If you can’t be certain your messaging or posting will meet this criterion, then for the good of others, stick to your own discipline and don’t share. Here’s four reasons why. 

1. The right words save lives; the wrong words kill people. This is the excruciating balancing act public health officials assume every time they speak. The stakes are high and we know it. Last week, here in Seattle, meteorologist Cliff Mass decided to use his popular weather blog to second-guess the analysis of epidemiologists. While Cliff Mass’s blog is a local favorite, in his field, if Mass gets a prediction wrong, lives are not on the line with the same urgency. With due respect, he’s not accustomed to these stakes. 

Public health professionals think twice about second-guessing data or offering assurances without basis. We know a misstep is costly. As a result, we parse our messages carefully, or try, as time allows. We have practice being deliberate. Our president does not. He extemporaneously and recklessly riffed on chloroquine as a “treatment” last week. Now people are dead from chloroquine overdosing in Nigeria and Arizona. That is a direct line of causation from his “musings” to their actions. Words have consequences.  

Want an example responsible and reassuring public health communication, one that’s downright inspiring? Look no further than Dr. Emily Landon’s appearance last week at the Chicago mayor’s press conference. She did more good in eight minutes than our president has done in eight weeks. She has practice and experience. It shows. 

2. Non-experts have major gaps in their public health knowledge. This results in bad analysis and poor advice. I don’t ask a carpenter to fix my car. Even if non-experts like Cliff Mass provide caveats that they are not epidemiologists, it’s insufficient. Casual readers grant them more credibility than they deserve. You might like the sound of your own voice. You might be accustomed to people turning to you for advice (I know I am). But ask yourself if your uninformed opinion is truly helping or if it could do harm. A lot of non-experts weighing in muddles public health messaging. We need clarity. When in doubt, stick to your lane. 

Dr. Michael Levitt, (a Nobel Prize winner in chemistry) did not. His recent analysis covered in the LA Times is interesting but of dubious value. It may do harm by providing false reassurance. That bias might kill people. Dr. Levitt’s knowledge of chemistry and biophysics is expansive. That expertise is not transferable to disease outbreaks and health education. His models may be incomplete. We don’t know if they account for the irrationality of human nature or the behavior of panicked crowds. Levitt and Mass have not studied the lessons learned from thousands of previous public-health messaging campaigns or disease outbreaks. If either man had, they would be cognizant of the delicacy and clarity needed in these moments. But they’re not.  

This gap becomes obvious when Mass makes comparisons between traffic safety and virus preparedness. He cites that a few thousand traffic fatalities each year do not lead us to shutting down highways. This is correct but misleading. The threat of deaths from Covid-19 is in the millions, not thousands. Three-hundred and sixty-four deaths were enough to remove the 737 Max from service. The traffic fatality analogy might satisfy the writer’s own need to be heard, but it is flawed. A vulnerable public deserves better. 

3. The challenge in public health is that when it works, nothing happens. To paraphrase Dr. Emily Landon, if this all ends up seeming like it was for nothing, then that means success—because nothing happened to you or your family. This is the sad irony of public health. It’s why we take it for granted. Success is normal, mundane life. We take the kids to school. We drive to work. We drink in bars. We eat in restaurants. Water flows from taps and toilets flush. Those things make for terrible Hollywood movies.  

But public health comprises all the vital background things we need so we can enjoy bars, restaurants, and movies. Public health workers are the unsung heroes. They aren’t portrayed in long-running dramas on NBC or CBS the way doctors are. When public health works, it’s boring to the rest of us. We should all be so lucky. With their intellectual peacock displays, outside “experts” undermine the men and women of public health departments—and certainly those workers are too busy right now (and too humble) to tell meteorologists and biochemists how to do their jobs. 

4. Optimistic comparisons from China and South Korea are not analogous to the US. I understand the motivation of the op-ed writer in the LA Times who cited Dr. Levitt’s research and his choice to use the Nobel laureate’s quote “We’re going to be fine.” Messages to remain calm are valuable. But we also have to be cautious about drawing too many conclusions from China and South Korea. Both countries had wildly different initial conditions than we have here in the US. China is an authoritarian government that thinks nothing of trampling individual rights. The draconian measures there are not possible here. South Korea benefited from wide-spread testing. They also benefited from a fast-acting government. In the US, we don’t have either. What we do have is an unscrupulous administration led by a president with a long list of lies, who displays pathological deficits in his ability to process empathy or shame.

To non-public-health scientists: you have scruples, you have education, you have an ability to reason and to listen. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be where you are. Don’t put yourself in the same category as a historically bad and amoral president. Please, with urgency and respect, stick to your own discipline. Do no harm. Leave the messaging and modeling to the experts.

Deconstructing my own reaction to gentrification (spoiler alert - I am a biased motherf***er)

I highly recommend this short video interview with Layla Saad on performative allyship.  

https://jezebel.com/even-good-allies-are-probably-complicit-layla-saad-on-1841812239 

She brings to light something I’ve been guilty of in the past: people of privilege posting on social media in support of social/racial justice causes; less out of sincere support for the real work and change these causes need, and more out of a need to be recognized, rewarded, and validated as an ally. Saad calls this “performative wokeness” or “optical allyship.”  

REAL allyship, real antiracism work as Saad points out, “requires taking a deep dive first and uncovering how you perpetuate white supremacy and creating change from within.” 

I like the contrast Saad draws between the uncomfortable internal work of dismantling our defense mechanisms, our ego, and our biases with the less useful, superficial, “look-at-me-ism” that categorizes so many public displays of solidarity.  

And this brings me to the uncomfortable issue of gentrification and my own reaction to a recent article (also from The Root) by Stephen Crockett. Link here: Gentrification Remains Undefeated: DC Cultural Landmark Horace & Dickies Closing After 30 Years 

Full disclosure, I like Stephen Crockett. He is one of my favorite writers at The Root. (And here is me taking a deep dive on my own reaction): I know I struggle with how gentrification is discussed and addressed in the media (social and otherwise). I know some of this is due to my own blind spots. This post is mostly about me trying to own and struggle with them. 

Here is my dilemma (and this may invite the ire of many, but please read this post to the end before you send me angry emails): I believe gentrification is a serious issue. I believe it represents a terrible overlap of racial and economic injustice. It has roots in policies intentionally created to deny affordable housing and wealth creation for people of color (such as red-lining). But there are times I feel like gentrification is used, even more than some other issues, for the very performative wokeness/solidarity that Saad is criticizing. My initial response is that Crockett’s piece is that that is what he is doing, over simplifying the issue in an effort to score readers, shares, and likes—at the expense of a more constructive discussion. 

Here is a passage from Crockett’s piece that triggers my own resistance: 

"For 30 years, Horace & Dickie’s served up loaded fish sandwiches for pennies. Seriously, when I was in high school, after my friends and I spent all our money on important stuff like weed and weed, we’d scrape up enough coins to get one sandwich with two extra slices of bread because they put so much fish on the sandwich that two to three people could eat comfortably. This was back when H Street was a shithole ...This is the unsettling part of gentrification: It’s not the bombardment of white settling; it’s the lifting of memories and the restructuring of those who came before them." 

I know, my privilege is showing in this following statement, yet I know I represent a lot of white people when I say this: I'm struggling to see how celebrating the "shithole" status of this street and lamenting that changing helps clarify the issues here. Is Crockett celebrating "black" culture or the culture of poverty that has become synonymous with it I some places? The upwardly mobile, suburban raised, white male in me is waaaay uncomfortable in Crockett’s choice of a "shithole" neighborhood and smoking "weed" as outward signs for black culture. I know there is a bit of "counter-culture" rebelliousness going on there . . . that’s fine. But opponents also use this (ad-absurdism) fallacy as a tactic to discredit legitimate arguments all the time. Why give the talking heads on Fox ammunition to turn this back on the writer and say “taken to (an extreme) conclusion you would seem to imply that shithole neighborhoods are where black people belong.” 

I am certain that is NOT what Crockett means to say . . . but I feel this is representative for a lot of the hasty posts and articles put up decrying gentrification I come across. My reaction is that the analysis is superficial. This piece (unhelpfully) blurs the line between racial and economic justice. Crockett is not actually proposing solutions as much as promoting himself. I see friends and colleagues do this all the time. They post pictures of abandoned and crumbling homes slated for demolition beside new buildings on Instagram. They add captions lambasting gentrification. As a result, they get lots of likes and thumbs up. A part of me says “I’m not sure every transitioning neighborhood is actually a case of gentrification.” Yet, any new building next to an old one, out of context, seems to serve the purpose for the posters as they seek likes and shares and to stoke some sanctimonious outrage—not to mention look-at-me-I am-woke-ism. 

My other source of resistance/discomfort here is that sometimes these discussions for old neighborhoods get locked into nostalgia that looks back on a past not worth recreating. I'm not one for nostalgia. I'm no more moved by Garrison Keillor waxing on about an all-white and subtly sexist Lake Woebegone with all its shadings of a pre-civil rights 1950s America, than I am for my white neighbors lamenting all the "foreigners" moving into my childhood neighborhood (a sign of growing diversity that I think is progress but they see as a threat). It seems to me the whole MAGA/KAG movement is built on just such backwards looking nostalgia.  

So when I hear Crockett pining for the days when he and his friends spent their money on important things like "weed and weed" and went to this shop on a “shithole” street . . . I cringe . . . because this seems like a real diversion from what the core issues are here (affordable housing, after school activities, nutritious food options, small business support) and not exactly nostalgia for an environment any one would wish for their kids. 

And yet . . . [for those of you composing hate-mail to me, here is the turn where I try to turn the analysis on myself] If I really try to practice what Layla Saad suggests, to keep turning inward, to do my own work, what is this really all about? What is here that I need to own? What internally do I need to examine here? 

Can a “well read,” “educated,” “woke” guy like me still be wrong on this. 

Sadly, the answer is an emphatic probably and YEP! Ignorance isn’t the only barrier to understanding. Sometimes our own intellectual arrogance and face saving rationalization is. And you can see what I’ve done with my entire argument . . . even though I think of myself as an ally and I’ve made some reasonable points . . . I’m sort of discrediting the messenger (and perhaps the message) so I can feel better about myself.[1] 

So, let’s reexamine my privilege (socio-economic, educational, white, etc.). It’s my privilege making it hard, even impossible for me, to really understand the refuge this neighborhood represented to a bunch of kids of color who grew up feeling like they didn’t belong in other “white dominant” spaces. If anything, the “rundown” nature of the neighborhood likely had a protective effect for these kids because it might have kept white people at bay and kept the space “theirs.” 

And who doesn’t need a place that feels like it’s their own? 

My privilege shows up in my education (a Master’s in Public Health and a Master’s in Business Administration), that views the neighborhood in abstract, in terms of health metrics, property valuations, and markers of upward mobility—that Crockett and his peers likely felt were shut off to them. I don’t see the neighborhood or appreciate the deep emotional resonance this block had for those who called it home. Sure, there are parallels between Crockett’s nostalgia and Keillor’s, but only to a point. One need only reflect on the scarcity of places for black bodies to feel safe and at home, versus the rest of the frickin’ country where white people do, to realize the fundamental differences between Keillor yammering on about Lake Woebegone and Crockett lamenting the loss of another space where black kids could feel at home. 

Finally, in regards to “giving ammunition” to critics . . . Ibram X. Kendi writes in How to be an Antiracist that he took inspiration from Toni Morrison who did her best to free herself from her own internalized critic and recognized that if she let concern about how her words might be used against her or the cause, then she’d never write anything . . . our only obligation is to the truth. Folks invested in the status quo will defend it no matter what.  

In other words, haters gonna hate; Fox News is gonna fabricate.  

So, if as writers and activists we shouldn’t give in to our internal critics or let the potential distortions of opponents censor us . . . we sure as hell shouldn’t do it to each other. 

I don’t want Crockett’s words used against him, or used against a righteous cause. The lesson from Morrison, handed down to Kendi, handed down to me is not to police[2] Crockett or his words. It is to support him in love and solidarity. Do I find his argument less than perfect? Yes. Do I think I have a few valid points? Maybe. But here is the thing: even if I find Crockett making a less than perfect argument, if I do what Layla Saad suggests and examine myself, I become keenly aware that I am a VERY MUCH less-than-perfect-ally.  

I am participating in this dialogue due to the grace of others. I am in this space due to being invited by gatekeepers whose lives have been more impacted by race and racism than my own. Those gatekeepers, friends, mentors, teachers, have shown grace to me, my blind spots, my foibles, my microaggressions. And I recognize, I need to show the same grace to Crockett. I think his article might be inelegant in its execution. I think a lot of social media posts on gentrification are superficial virtue signaling/performative wokeness as Saad points out. I might not agree with Crockett 100 percent, but who agrees with anyone one 100 percent? Some of my closest friends and I still can’t agree on what makes a good movie.  

What I do need to do is keep examining myself and my reactions. To counter centuries of injustice, racism, and prejudice, my default needs to be one of checking myself, deferring to writers like Crockett, Saad, Kendi, and Morrison. No matter how smart I think I am. That is what I hope to have demonstrated in this post: a heterosexual white dude from a privileged background wrestling with his own biases, ego, defensiveness, in a transparent, vulnerable way. 

One thing I am 110 percent certain of, is that I still need to stand behind Stephen Crockett, his platform, and his voice. Period.

______________________________________________________

[1] What until next week when I unpack in a post just what an a**hole gentrifier I REALLY am. Stay tuned for hypocrisy!

[2] The choice of this word is intentional.

Jezebel, Ronan Farrow, & Redistributive Justice

Jezebel published a piece last week criticizing The Hollywood Reporter's choice to award Ronan farrow at their annual women in entertainment gala in December. Link here: Ronan Farrow to Be Honored at the Women in Entertainment Gala The Hollywood Reporter (THR) wants to give Farrow  their equity in entertainment award which recognizes someone who has worked against gender based discrimination and for greater inclusion of women and people of color.

Now yes, THR should also give the award to Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey who shared the Pulitzer with Farror—for sure. I definitely agree with that. But Jezebel bases their argument not on that oversight, but rather on the fact that Ronan is not a woman or a person of color and the award should go to someone who is not white and not male.

As an observer (and I make no claims to be an unbiased one) I don’t know what to make of this. But it certainly doesn’t sit right with me. Farrow's work brought down a monster (Harvey Weinstein) who was preying on women everywhere. Going after Weinstein opened the floodgates for #MeToo and #TimesUp. Yes, Farrow has already gotten accolades and yes, I support spreading awards out to highlight the work of women and poc who have been historically ignored … and yes, this effort probably means less attention for white males in general (including me) … which I can live with.

But . . . arguing as, Jezebel does, that Farrow doesn't deserve recognition explicitly because he is a white male is problematic and runs the risk of undermining the progressive ideals we’re strive to live up to. Yes, denying Farrow the award is a bit of a (satisfying) reversal. For once, a white male is facing a type of discrimination women and poc have been experiencing for centuries.

Finally! Take that patriarchy! How do you like a taste of you own medicine for once? Aha! Zing!

But this sanctimony, I fear, represents more of a sugar-rush of schadenfreude than proper justice. Because replacing once injustice with another, is not a remedy to discrimination. It’s just perpetuating it.

I’m not arguing against overcorrection. We need overcorrection at this point in history. Things have been imbalanced in the direction of injustice way too long. But if we’re going to say “no” to awarding Farrow, let’s make sure we represent a sound argument for it. It helps our cause if that decision is based on principles of equity and redistributive justice. Otherwise, we open the door to accusations of pettiness or (gasp) “reverse discrimination.”[1]     

My thinking on this has been influenced by Ibram X. Kendi’s excellent book How to be an Anti Racist, (Short review: It’s amazing. Read it). Kendi uses research and personal anecdotes to explore many different types of racist attitudes, even among people of color (!) That is not really an issue for me to speak to, as Kendi (and James Baldwin before him in his criticism of The Nation of Islam) have already done that far better than I can. Bottom line: both authors stress that replacing one racial hierarchy with another, even if an inverted version of the first, is still morally flawed. It undermines your cause and only serves to promote injustice rather than justice. 

Jezebel’s approach anchored solely in identity politics and leaning so hard on labels is exactly what makes (fragile) white folks in the conservative media bubble scream “Look see, we're being discriminated against,” and “It’s reverse racism! White people are so oppressed!” 

<Eye Roll> 

We don’t need to fan the flames of that fire. It helps no one. 

I am trying to tread carefully here. I’m not against Jezebel’s suggestion. It has merit. It’s their argument I am critiquing. But (taken to an absurd extreme) my position might be misconstrued as a case against affirmative action. Let me be clear: it’s not. 

I’m arguing for consistency, which ultimately lends credibility to the (persuasive) case that Farrow doesn’t need recognition and the award may serve the cause, further the career of someone else in a more profound way.  

My take on affirmative action is that it is intended in a spirit of affirming the discriminatory challenges a person has faced in their past. It is a corrective to give folks who have faced structural barriers opportunity to improve their future, the same opportunity people of privilege have had. Jezebel’s argument seems to be based on a more punitive spirit. That is where we open the door to being called petty at best, discriminatory at worst.[2] Instead of lifting someone else up, we’re knocking someone down. It brings to mind one of my favorite illustrations on equity vs. equality and how to balance the assets some already have the deficiencies of others.

But wait, there’s more. The story has additional twists! 

Farrow is white. He is male. He is also gay. Therefore, an argument exists that Farrow DOESN'T conform to the straight white male patriarchy. So, go ahead, give him the award. Gay Pride! Love is Love! Whoohoo! 

Take that heteronormative white patriarchy! Zing! 

But wait there’s even more. 

Some activists of color and lesbian women argue that none of that "matters" because Farrow is white. He still coasts on white male privilege.[3] 

So, no-way don’t give him the award, you sexist, racist pig. 

If this is starting to feel a bit like “keeping score” in an oppression contest you’d be forgiven.

“Sorry, my transgender Afro Latina one ups your lesbian friend because even though she is gay, your lesbian friend is white and cis-gendered and so has a lower oppression score.”  

This is when I wonder if there is a point when the continual splitting off and sub dividing into more and more granular categories of identity politics (while highlighting the unique experiences of historically marginalized groups—valuable right?!) begins to have diminishing returns. 

When does it flip from recognition to competition, pitting us against one another? Does this oppression hierarchy/scorecard sacrifice solidarity and obscure all we have in common? When does a spirit of proper acknowledgment turn into decisive tribalism … we vs. them, you vs. me? I’m less worried about being accused of “reverse discrimination” than I am of failing to see the humanity and authentic pain of others.  

As a straight white male, I'm handicapped by my own biases and privileges here and so I’m curious for the perspective of others. 

And to an extent I feel sympathy for my gay male friends—the white ones, yeah them. 

I’ve heard my gay friends describe the pain, fear, and anxiety of growing up perceived as straight by their families. They struggled through years of adolescence and sexual awakening paired with a growing recognition that their orientation was different—not the default. This was followed by the trauma of having to confront their families (some accepting some not) and explain to parents and siblings that their perceptions were fundamentally flawed. As a cis-gendered straight guy, I’ve enjoyed the privilege of never having to “correct” my family’s sense of my core identity—gender, sexual orientation or otherwise. Their defaults aligned with my inner reality. 

That made things easier for me. 

But that is a privilege fundamentally different than the experience of my gay friends–even the white male ones. I don’t know if this struggle of theirs should be dismissed or diminished, even if the person who went through it was a white male. Love is love and pain is pain.  

Let’s pause to consider, that coming out as gay is the number one reason teens are kicked out of the home and left homeless (white kids, kids of color, whatever). The statistics for these teens the moment they hit the streets are harrowing. Close to half will be solicited for transactional sex (for food, shelter, money) within 36 hours of being kicked out of the home. Many are at high risk of drug use and addiction—not from recreational use have you—but rather using substances to escape the emotional trauma of abandonment, rejection, and abuse (not to mention the use of amphetamines just to remain vigilant and awake while trying to pass a night unsheltered on city streets). Given all that, I’d probably use too. 

So does your lesbian, southeast Asian, cis-gendered friend still trump my gay white cis gendered male friend? 

When does it matter? When doesn’t it? 

Bottom line, I don’t know.  

This I do know: I don’t think Farrow (alone) should get the award or maybe at all. If he gets it, he should definitely share it with Kantor and Twohey. I think the argument against awarding Farrow should be grounded in principles of redistributive justice and recognition—not in a spirit of corrective punishment or revenge. I want to live and walk in a spirit of recognizing everyone’s differences and their traumas, their resilience, their unique stories … but not at the expense of seeing the humanness that links us all together. 

Like I said above, can we lift others up without knocking others down?

________________________________________________

[1] I’m still not even sure this is a thing, but some people really do claim it.

[2] For the record, I support Affirmative Action and the principles behind it. I also support reparations for slavery and have mentioned before that Bryan Stephenson, author of Just Mercy and founder of the Equal Justice Initiative has offered some of the best (and realistic) forms of reparation I’ve heard to date. 

[3] I've heard the same criticism of Pete Buttigieg diminishing the significance of his candidacy because he is a white male. This is just sad.

The most disturbing thing about the new Joker film: it's treatment of Women of Color and what that says about us.

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR JOKER AHEAD 

While Zazie Beetz’s character, Sophie Dumond, is certainly real in Todd Philips’ Joker, the filmmakers still try to pull a Fight Club-esque turn two thirds of the way into the film, “revealing” to the audience that, aside from Arthur’s (Joaquin Phoenix) encounter with Sophie on the elevator, all the scenes of romance between Arthur and Sophie have been figments of his imagination. 

If this build up and reveal was supposed to have a powerful payoff (and I believe that was what was intended) I wonder how many of us believed it? And for those who were genuinely surprised by the “twist,” because we bought the notion that a woman like Sophie would see something in budding supervillain like Arthur, what does that say about the filmmakers’ and our perceptions of black women? 

I can hear readers raising objections that I’m even bringing race into it, especially because Sophie is the film’s love interest and that, in turn, elevates her character. But I think as writers and storytellers we need to push ourselves beyond a surface-level reading of these roles. We need to analyze their function in the overall story. We need to consider how the plots and characters we present align with positive and negative trends throughout society and the entertainment industry.  

I say this because I know I left Joker unsettled by what Zazie Beetz’s character has in common with the two other women-of-color characters in the film and my further observation that all of them do little more than serve as plot devices. Their characters essentially cater to the emotional needs of a white man (in this case a despicable man) only then to be dispatched by the story when they have served their purpose.  

Alone, this might not be terribly significant. But it’s not unique to Joker, and that is a problem. 

For the Sophie “turn” to work in Joker, we have to believe that this warm, intelligent, strikingly attractive single mother (with a job and plenty of social capital) would see Arthur as a viable partner with something to offer. Does he? The film tells us “No,” portraying him as an unattractive, creepy older man. He is struggling with a chronic mental illness and is living with his mentally ill mother.[1] If that is not enough baggage, Arthur is failing at his job, his side hustle, and life in general. Yet, the narrative invites us—at least a little—to suspend our disbelief that a “10” like Sophie would consider dating a “2” like Arthur. 

Unless Sophie is not a 10. But given her personal warmth, her physical attractiveness, and her employment status, what is left that would make us consider her anything other than a 10? She already has a kid? Well, for many, that’s not a problem at all. You already know she is a good mother.

And come on, can Arthur really afford to be choosy?  

So what is left? Which one of Sophie’s attributes as a woman are left that might, in some people’s view, bring down her social capital enough that we might entertain, even for just a few beats, that this relationship is a viable possibility? 

What leaves me so uncomfortable is that, intentionally or not, I feel that the undervaluing of Sophie rests on her status as a black woman and the overvaluing of Arthur essentially relies on the fact that he is a white man. 

I’m not saying that the filmmakers did this purposefully. That is actually the deeper problem. Skin color doing the “work” of undervaluing Sophie and signaling her diminished social capital makes intuitive sense—to all of us. That is the nature of implicit bias. We don’t even consciously think about it because the associations are so deeply ingrained. And we don’t like to admit why.  

A defense I already can hear in my mind is this: “You liberals are impossible to please. If the part was given to a white woman, you would complain that the casting wasn’t diverse enough.” That is possible! But let’s consider if the role was played by a white actress. If Sophie’s character was identical in all ways but skin color (perhaps played by Gal Gadot or Brie Larson—who like Beetz have also recently played formidable superheroines), might viewers pause a bit sooner in the story? Might they wonder, “What is a woman like Sophie doing with a guy like Arthur . . . what is she doing in a rundown apartment building at all?” thus jeopardizing the payoff of the reveal?  

I think we owe it to women of color, and to our own growth as individuals and society, to ask ourselves: why is it that placing a black woman in such an impoverished setting and using her skin color as shorthand for desperation seem so . . . natural . . . automatic . . . even authentic? What does that say about us viewers? Our society?  

I’m not even necessarily saying the casting was a mistake . . . but if we storytellers are going to write stories with characters different from ourselves and if we are going to put these images out into the world, then we have an obligation to go deeper in our analysis. We have to ask what pre-existing and harmful narratives we are leaning into for our stories to work? What toxic tropes, stereotypes, and trends are we perpetuating? Do we recognize our responsibility to question and challenge them? 

Sophie’s casting could be dismissed as a one off, if not for the other roles for women of color in Joker (or Hollywood more broadly). The two other significant women of color in the film are both Arthur’s counselors. The first is his social worker. The second is his psychiatrist. Like Sophie, these women serve Arthur’s emotional needs. In as visual a medium as film, I imagine the choice on the part of the producers to make the counselors resemble one another had to be intentional. The visual call back to the first counselor when we meet the second is obvious. We meet this psychiatrist in the penultimate scene of the film, in Arkham Asylum, just before Arthur brutally murders her.

As we watch Arthur saunter down the hall in the closing image of the film, his feet leaving footprints in shocking red on the white floor, I was left wondering: while the studio execs who produced Joker were congratulating themselves on the diverse cast, did anyone stop to consider the overall optics of these roles? 

I suspect the answer is no and that is problematic because diversity placeholders and tokens, when it’s almost 2020, are insufficient. And they can get us into dangerous waters.  

Like I said, this isn’t isolated to Joker. 

The 2017 film, Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets, is a recent (and painful) example. Rhianna is plopped into this story playing a shape-shifting alien, Bubble. Bubble is held captive at a sort of futuristic cabaret/bordello. She is charmed by the eponymous lead, Major Valerian, played by a smirking Dane DeHaan, who needs her talents for his own quest. The major is portrayed as a selfish chauvinist who unabashedly sexually harasses his female subordinate, Sergeant Laureline, played by Cara Delevinge. One could argue that in the film’s opening scene, Valerian comes close to sexually assaulting Laureline. Considering the power dynamics (he is her commanding officer), it’s all very Harvey Weinstein. The film’s treatment of these interactions is uncomfortably light and playful. The characters eventually marry so . . . this is ok? (It’s all based on a French comic book from the seventies, so the mores are obviously terribly dated).  

While there is some, limited growth on Major Valerian’s part, when his blond-haired, blue-eyed Laureline is kidnapped, we the audience are asked to believe that his charm is able to convince Rhianna’s Bubble to risk her life to help him save Laureline. Bubble does and ends up sacrificing herself in the effort. As an isolated character arc and casting choice (as in Joker), this is not a big deal. Yes, maybe Bubble’s death raises the stakes for the story. And yes, Arthur’s murder of his psychiatrist cements his devolution into a monster/villain. But I’d venture, as socially responsible writers, we’re obligated to consider how these things read. Here is a take on the subplot in Valerian: 

• Woman of color character risks life in service to white male so he can rescue his white female love interest.

• Woman of color character dies helping unabashed chauvinist. Sad beat.

• Woman of color character never mentioned in script again (forsaken) as white male hero continues (cue soaring march) in his pursuit of GOAL (cue ethereal ballad): the blond-haired, blue-eyed princess, I mean, sergeant.   

The good news is that the corrective to these unfortunate subtexts isn’t rocket science. The biggest obstacle is our own willingness or unwillingness to humbly self-examine and admit our implicit biases. Granted, Bubble is a shape-shifting alien. But do young kids of color appreciate that nuance? I’d argue no. They see another woman-of-color character castoff by the story as irrelevant (Rhianna no less!) after she has fulfilled the purpose of serving the “entitled” white male protagonist. It’s a shame and a loss. I would argue that Bubble’s character was a more interesting one than Valerian or Sergeant Laureline, but I’m not the one calling the shots in Hollywood (I’m a heterosexual, cis-gendered white guy working at his writing desk in his pajamas . . . so clearly not studio executive material).  

I’d argue that the course correction comes in two parts. First, it’s a matter of pausing for a moment, asking ourselves a few incisive questions and seeking feedback from others. A lot of these conversations are enriched by having more diversity in front and behind the camera. These issues won’t be solved by an individual white guy at his writing desk in his pjs, but rather, by teams of diverse creatives. That means writers’ rooms, studios, and publishing houses where intellectual property is crafted, marketed, and sold should better reflect the majority-minority country and world we are living in. 

The questions I’m suggesting we ask are simple and would do a lot to get us beyond tokenism. They would help us to break out of some of the toxic and harmful patterns we keep repeating for our kids to see and internalize. Questions like, what ARE the roles we’re writing for characters of color? Who is writing them? Whose stories are we telling? Who is sitting around the writers’ table, at the studios, in the publishing houses? Do the characters of color we present in film, TV, books reflect our own implicit biases in unseemly ways? How are those characters treated in the story? Are they plot devices, clichés, stereotypes? Are they given meaningful inner lives or are we substituting the questionably accurate shorthand society has already given us? What images do these characters offer to younger viewers looking for representations they can relate to? Are we even the best people to answer these questions? Whom should we consult for a perspective other than our own? Does our team of creatives and decision makers reflect the society we’re writing about/for? 

The second suggestion is to enhance our understanding (and curricula) around media literacy. We do this with literature. We know better than to read The Merchant of Venice or Othello innocently. Classes at the secondary and tertiary levels discuss the problematic nature of characters like Shylock and Othello. Just because it hasn’t been considered high art, doesn’t mean we should give what we see on our screens a pass. And that assignment is for everyone, not just creatives who manage IP, but fans who consume it.

But speaking as a writer (because that is my vocation and profession) we have an artistic imperative to do better. As humans, we have a moral one. We can and we should. It will produce better writing and—this is not hyperbole—a better world. After all, if anything is to be brought into existence, it has to be imagined first.

________________________________________________

[1] I intend no shame in pointing this out. I live with a chronic mental illness. And really, who doesn’t have some ongoing health issues, especially as we age. I think taking into account a potential partner’s ongoing health challenges—and more importantly how they are managing them—is a reasonable and even necessary consideration during courtship.

Say Her Name: Atatiana Jefferson

Texas Police Officer Shoots and Kills Black Woman in Her Own Home

The tragedy of this story speaks for itself. My posting of it on this blog is really just in effort to ensure it gets the attention it deserves (which, in time of impeachment fever, it won’t).

One line in particular, a quote from Atatiana Jefferson’s aunt, illustrates the poignancy of her niece's death for me:

“[Atatiana] was a college graduate with a good job who would never have been a threat to anyone . . . that is why this is so hard to conceive.”

The notion that Atatiana was a “college graduate” and that this professional and scholastic achievement would some how protect her reminds me of comments friends of color have made to me over the years. In so many words they say, “No matter my job, my six-figure income, how I dress, how I talk . . . when a cop looks down the barrel of his gun at me, he see’s a criminal and a threat.”

It’s also a powerful indictment of respectability politics—the notion that as long as black people dress like whites, talk like whites, and work to attain academic and professional success “like whites,” racism will magically disappear.

It won’t and it doesn’t. That is why a world-renowned scholar like Henry Louis Gates Jr. PhD can be arrested, in broad daylight, on the front porch of his own home, because he forgot his house key, got locked out, and a woman called the police because he “looked suspicious.” Henry Louis Gates arrest controversy. That event was ten years ago and culminated in the “Beer Summit.” Remember?

Anyone reading can be forgiven for their cynicism right now as they wonder "Has anything changed?" Especially since, ten years ago many (white) Americans would never have conceived that within the next decade white supremacists would be marching on Charlottesville VA with torches, crying out, “You will not replace us. Jews will not replace us,” and “White power.” Ten years ago we had just elected our first black president. Racism was over!

This is when my black friends would point out my naiveté.

The notion of income, degrees, the trappings of “respectability,” protecting people of color was also driven home to me in the following Washington Post series: Perspective | A renowned scientist searched for his mystery angel for 30 years. Case closed. This ongoing series has covered how Mahmoud Ghannoun, a Kuwaiti scientist facing an expiring visa in 1990 during the first Gulf War and trying to help his family immigrate to the US as refugees while Kuwait burned, was allowed to stay in the US just a week longer by a Vietnam vet, turned volunteer firefighter, turned travel agent - a black man named Jimmy Dorsey.

Dorsey was moved by Ghannoun’s plight when he walked into a travel agency off Farragut Square in Washington DC. After hearing his story, Dorsey opened his wallet, gave Ghannoun eighty dollars so he could eat that week, then risked his job fudging some paper work so Ghannoun could remain in the US seven days longer. In that time, Ghannoun was able to do two job interviews. Ghannoun was offered both jobs and as a result was able to get his family safely to the US.

Your life has been impacted by Jimmy Dorsey. As a result of his kindness for a stranger (a Muslim seeking asylum who had a strong accent and thick mustache) the knowledge regarding the microbiome in our digestive system has grown. Our health is better for it. As the article points out, “Whenever you read about gut bacteria or probiotics? That’s Ghannoum’s work.”

A further tragedy is evident the divergent paths the men’s lives have taken since. Coincidentally, Ghannoun and Dorsey were the same age. Ghannoun’s career continues to flourish and with the help of his son he was able to track down Doresy’s family after thirty years and thank them.

Unfortunately, the two men will never reunite. Jimmy Doresy died this February, succumbing to lung and liver cancer. Two men. The same age. But Doresy’s health and lifespan, tragically, tracks along with the health statistics of so many other black men and women who face elevated rates of illness, reduced access to quality health care, and shorter life expectancy.

It burns me that these inequities and injustices affect people I love. If they don’t die from health inequalities, my friends of color could just as easily die at the end of the barrel of a weapon brandished by police officers sworn to “protect and serve.” My own best friend, a successful writer/producer in LA, with a college degree, nearly came to the same end as Atatiana Jefferson—in his own neighborhood. A few years ago, while he was walking to the post office, two police officers approached him at gun point, forced him to the ground, and handcuffed him. This was because of reports of a black suspect that “resembled him” in the area.

Right there in that moment, the limitations of respectability politics were laid bare. My friend, his profession, his income, his college degree, the title to his home, his Ted Baker[1] designer clothes, none of those things protected him. He could have ended up like Atatiana Jefferson, Botham Jean, Eric Garner, Alton Sterling, Freddie Gray, Tanisha Anderson, Eric Harris, Amadou Diallo, Tamir Rice, Stephon Clark . . . and so so many others.

The world would have lost a man who is a husband, a father, a friend, and a brilliant writer. A man with a big heart, whom I got to know in college because he volunteered at a shelter for homeless children with HIV/AIDS. A man who has adopted two children offering them a home, life, and love, that would have been unavailable to them otherwise. A man, not unlike Jimmy Dorsey, whose generosity and kindness regularly extends to strangers.

It makes you wonder at what we lost, when we lost Atatiana Jefferson.

Will we ever learn?

__________________________________________

[1] A bitter irony is that, as a white man, I can shop for most of my clothes at secondhand shops and still get more respect from police than my black friend who wears designer brands that I can’t even afford. I’m not exaggerating. I’ve been told as much by a Seattle police officer.

On Forgiveness

So much has already been written, from people more qualified than myself, on the racial, spiritual, social, and political dynamics/implications in the above image that it’s best for me to link to their work here rather than running the risk of “whitesplaining” it. (The subsequent murder of Joshua Brown, a key witness in convicting Guyger, has been a deeply troubling development that merits its own blog post).

The One-Sided Nature of Black Forgiveness 

Botham Jean, Amber Guyger and the Delusion of Forgiveness 

Amber Guyger was hugged by her victim’s brother and a judge, igniting a debate about forgiveness and race

Dear White People: About Botham Jean, Forgiveness, Justice, and Cheap Grace 

Adam Serwer, one of my favorite writers, wrote this in his Twitter feed: “We would be living in a very different world if many of the people who exult in black displays of forgiveness reciprocated that grace and mercy but that’s not reflected at all in our criminal justice policy, and it makes you question what they really find compelling about it.”

Even before this week, many other influential writers have written on this same topic. Links to two of those pieces are below in the footnotes.[1]

The story of Brandt Jean’s forgiveness for his brother’s killer has stirred passionate discussion within my social and professional circles. To a great extent I agree with writers such as Sophia Nelson, Anne Branigin, Hannah Knowles, Karyn Carlo, Jenn M. Jackson, Roxane Gay, and Adam Serwer. As a white male writer, there isn’t much I can add to their words on the racial dynamics of this and how it fits into a larger context of racism in the US. I would not presume to be able to write from their perspectives on this deeply personal issue. 

Instead, for what it’s worth, I’m interpreting Brandt Jean’s gesture of forgiveness through the lens of what I’ve learned from the recovery community, and that is the angle I’m using for this blog post. 

For regular readers of this blog, you’ll know I’m a huge fan of the recovery community, specifically 12-step programs such as AA, NA, Al-Anon, ACA, etc. I first came into serious contact with them when I was suicidal and hospitalized for depression in 2012. It changed my life. Although I have never struggled with addiction or alcoholism, suicidal ideation is a sort of compulsion in itself. What I learned from my brothers and sisters in the recovery community has helped me with my mental and spiritual health since. Because of them, and what I learned from the wisdom of these programs, I’ve learned to live with my mental illness. I’m deeply grateful for all I’ve gained from their fellowship. So much so that I frequently tell people that my near-suicide and hospitalization was the “best worst thing” that ever happened to me. And, like many in the AA community, I often feel like everything I own should be stamped with “Property of Alcoholics Anonymous” because everything I have today I owe to these programs of recovery and the way of living I learned from them. 

Since September 25, 2012 (the day of my hospitalization), I’ve worked through the 12 steps twice. I attend open AA meetings regularly. I meet with a sponsor each week. My sponsor, Terry B., has thirty-eight years of sobriety and serves as my spiritual director as well as friend.[2]  

It’s a story my sponsor told me this very week on the nature of forgiveness and acceptance that I thought of while looking at that photo of Brandt Jean embracing Amber Guyger. Terry was telling me about a sponsee he had years ago. We’ll call him Jack. Jack was bitter and angry with so many of the people in his life, including his wife and his mother. Terry was trying to help Jack through a step 4 inventory,[3] wherein a sponsor guides a sponsee through their transgressions, their resentments, and their fears. The ultimate goal is to help the sponsee recognize their part in these lingering sources of toxic thoughts so they can remedy that. But Jack simply could not let go of his anger, his resentment, and thus his sense of persecution and victimization—especially from his wife and mother. Sensing they were reaching a critical juncture, Terry got up, walked around the table he and Jack were working at, and sat down next to Jack. Terry looked him in the eye and said, “Listen Jack, if you can’t find a way to forgive your wife and mother, it will kill you.” 

Jack couldn’t.  

He was dead within a year. 

I’ve heard many speakers and many folks disclose in AA meetings how, despite never being apologized to by those parents/spouses/family members/bosses/friends/strangers who had hurt them in the past, they HAD to find it in their hearts to forgive them. They didn’t do this because grace required it of them. They did it because their own sobriety depends on it. They have to let go.[4] They have to forgive because they know that resentments, over time, are toxic and otherwise will lead to poor spiritual health, a loss of sobriety, and death.  

The stakes are that high with alcohol, addiction, and I would say, many other forms of mental illness, like my own.  

So when I see Brandt Jean embracing Amber Guyger and forgiving her, I see him doing it less for her and more for himself. It is part of his own healing process. To an extent, many writers and commentators have acknowledged this in the articles linked to above. 

And then there are the people of the world who are claiming this act to be more than it is. These folks (mostly white) want to see it as absolution for all white people who have benefited from racial injustice.[5] These white folks see this gesture as an example for all black people to follow. They see it as a justification for black people to abandon black rage all together. 

Writers of color and their allies are right to push back against this gross misinterpretation. And I agree with the theologians and essayists pointing out how, throughout history, the Christian notion of “turn the other cheek” has been perverted—even weaponized—by white oppressors and their enablers. “Turn the other cheek” has been used to justify enslavement, discrimination, and to delegitimize the righteous anger of many oppressed communities.  

And I agree with Sophia Nelson in the Washington Post: it is by no means fair that forgiveness only goes one way. Full stop. It just ain’t. Add to that, I don’t think it’s fair that so many of my friends in the recovery community have had to forgive deadbeat dads, abusive spouses, and exploitative pimps, even though some of these individuals never asked for it.  

It’s not fair . . . but . . . what do we do? . . . what do I do with that lingering sense of injustice? 

It certainly motivates me in my work for social change, whether that is on the page or hands on. But humility forces me to recognize that my sphere of influence is much, much smaller than I’d like to admit. Friends in AA have insisted to me that I should envision a hula hoop around me. That gives me a clear picture of how wide my circle of influence and control really is. That sucks. The hard truth I have to admit is that, through my power and influence alone, I’ll never be able to right all the wrongs and restore justice to the world.  

My fellow journeyers in the recovery community, with more years than I, have said to me, “Ted, life doesn’t offer justice. It just is.” Terry would tell me that 99.99 percent of the world’s problems don’t have my name on them and that the 00.01 percent that do will keep me more than busy. So I’m left to practice humility, recognize it’s not on me to fix everything wrong with the world. I need to practice acceptance that I won’t be able to fix it all. And I need to practice trust that my higher power/God will.  

In other words, I should stop trying to play God, fixer, and/or savior and just keep my side of the street clean, or in my sponsor Terry B.’s words, “I want people to heal, to get better, especially my sponsees, but I have to love them whether they do or not. And if they get better or not, ultimately, its none of my f***ing business. It’s their business and God’s business. When my service to them turns into ‘saving’ them, that is just another form of pride.” 

How is that for humility and radical acceptance? 

It’s not that Terry would ask me to forget the slights and injustices in the world. He’s moved by them as much as I am. I’m certain of that. And he certainly encourages me in my own work to try to affect positive change. But Terry reminds me of the importance of letting go, of not making my anger at injustice or unfairness too deep a part of my identity. He’s warned me that holding on to resentments for the world’s injustices—the ones that affect me directly or the ones that affect others—can be toxic for the soul. 

Like it was for his sponsee Jack. 

Boy, that is hard to hear. Really hard to hear for a recovering control freak, do-gooder, aid worker, with a history of poor boundaries, virtue signaling, and a chronic case of “white savior-dom.”  

But I think Brandt Jean knows this even better than I do. 

This “letting go” certainly doesn’t excuse us from the work of social change. Not at all. Although I think that is what some white folks, looking for absolution, want to read into Brandt’s gesture. They shouldn’t. But keeping in mind our humility should right-size us, help us (or at least me) see our selves and our work in perspective.  

I wouldn’t want to go as far as to say Brandt was making a statement on race relations or racial justice. Those things are way outside his hula hoop. But what was in his sphere of influence right then and there was Amber Guyger. And faced with the opportunity to forgive, he took it. Might that have an impact outside that courtroom, outside his hula hoop? Maybe, but (fortunately) that’s not on his shoulders either. As for how our personal and intrapersonal interactions go out into the universe as a force for good, a force for change, that is an answer that is beyond our pay grade, and I think is the very “mystery” theologians talk about when they talk about the mystery of grace and the paradox at the center of it. We’re either all deserving or none of us are. 

I’m afraid the answer is that both statements are true. 

But it’s 12 steps, not four. And for spiritual health there are other steps that I lean on for understanding the contradiction in that. It’s steps 8 and 9: making a list of those we have harmed and making amends to them. 

Bear with me. 

See, step 4 deals with how we have been victims (or perceived victims). Steps 8 and 9 deal with how we have victimized others. Part of the transformational practice of the 12 steps is to be responsible for what you can control (what is inside your hula hoop). If you have harmed others, and if you wish for your own spiritual healing, then not only are you called upon to apologize, but you are required to go further and make amends.  

Amends means more than saying “sorry.” Making amends implies that true healing comes in four parts: (1) expression of regret; (2) acceptance of responsibility; (3) acknowledgement of the impact on others; (4) a remedy, an act of restitution to the injured party or (when that route is unavailable) paying it forward to others. 

But here’s the thing: AA will tell us that if we’re the injured party, we can’t wait around for amends from others! They might never come. What I’ve heard folks say in meetings is that, “I had to forgive [my father/my abusive ex-spouse/my pimp], otherwise I would be a victim of them for the rest of my life.” And in recovery we must accept that we have no control over that person and/or whether they ever apologize. They are outside our hula hoop. 

Yep, we have to let it, let them, go. 

On the other side of the victim/victimizer equation, if you are the party that injured others (the victimizer, e.g. Amber Guyger), then these steps of making amends are part of your path back to wholeness. Again, I don’t confuse Brandt Jean’s forgiveness of Amber Guyger with absolution for her (or all white people—it’s definitely not that). Brandt’s graciousness is inviting Amber down a long road of reflection, restitution, and reconciliation. Amber’s admission of responsibility certainly makes it easier for Brandt to forgive her, but he likely knows he would have had to forgive her whether she asked for it or not—for the sake of his own healing. Just like so many of my friends in the AA fellowship have learned. If they didn’t want to be eaten alive, defined completely by their hurt and anger, they’d have to forgive—even the victimizers who never asked for it. 

It’s not fair. It’s not justice. It just is. 

As for Amber Guyger, she still has a long road ahead of her. But no one is irredeemable. Her jailtime and (hopefully) the inter- and intrapersonal work she will do in the future will all be part of her road to healing.  

In closing, when I see Brandt Jean embrace his brother’s killer, I see a man taking care of himself and his soul. No more, no less. It’s rarely the easy path. I admire him for taking it. I hope that, for Amber Guyger, it’s the first step to redemption. But that work will be within the exclusive domain of her and her creator, in the space of her own hula hoop.

_______________________________

[1] Jenn M. Jackson: Why Is Forgiveness Always Expected from the Black Community After Violence Occurs?; Roxane Gay: https://www.nytimes.com/2015/06/24/opinion/why-i-cant-forgive-dylann-roof.html

[2] Although many members of the AA fellowship would not claim it, I’d say that the people I have met in the rooms of AA are better “Christians” than many of the people I meet who vaingloriously claim that label for themselves.

[3] To make a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

[4] “Let go and let God [handle it]” is a frequent manta in AA.

[5] That is 99.99 percent of white people, if you are wondering.

Understanding & Hope in the wake of El Paso and Dayton Shootings

This has been a hard week to choose the words, links, articles to share for a blog. I imagine so many of us are feeling overwhelmed by the coverage of the loss, the disbelief, and anger—not to mention feeling all those things. I don’t want to add to that. 

But I don’t want to be silent either. So, I’m dedicating this week’s brief to the issue of white supremacy, which has been on my mind anyway since, with the help of friends, I’ve already begun slipping copies of Reaper Moon, my novel meant to be a counter to white supremacy and white nationalism, into free lending libraries across the country. We hope to have one thousand free copies out there in this fashion over the next few months. It will be available on all online retailers the first week of September (this year). 

There is so much hurt out there this week. As a counter, I really wanted to be thorough and lean into the spiritual in this post. I’ll share examples of understanding and hope that have provided me some solace. 

First: Understanding. From Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who knew firsthand about facing down race supremacists and how they emerge from an ecosystem of hurt and hate—a collective failure on the part of society to love. Bonhoeffer writes in Letters, Papers from Prison that the individual “supremacist” (or in his words “fool”) substitutes slogans for critical thinking while being exploited himself:  

“The fact that the fool is often stubborn must not mislead us into thinking that he is independent. One feels that when talking to him, one is dealing with slogans, catchwords and the like, which have taken hold of him. He is under a spell, he is blinded, his very nature is being misused and exploited. Having thus become a passive instrument, the fool will be capable of any evil and at the same time incapable of seeing that it is evil . . . reasoning is no use; facts that contradict prejudices can simply be disbelieved.” 

(I’m struck here by the themes of blindness—raised so often by Daniel Hill[1] in his anti-racism work—as well as this notion of alternative facts, a phenomenon from the past reminding us that this work is cyclical and, likely, never completed but rather constant). 

Secondly: Hope, from Christain Picciolini. Picciolini puts these concepts of transformation, reconciliation, and redemption into practice. He is a former white supremacist who works to get people OUT of the movement. This interview[2] with him is fascinating for its parallels with what Bonhoeffer wrote 75 years ago. When asked what sways people to leave these movements, Picciolini says that it is: 

“Certainly not facts. It’s very emotional. I try to take [white supremacists & neo nazis] through an emotional journey where they come to the conclusion that they’ve changed, and it’s not me telling them that they’ve changed. What I’ve found least effective is me telling them that they’re wrong, or me telling them that they need to think a certain way. Typically these people are pretty idealistic, although they’re lost, typically pretty bruised emotionally, and they have very low self-esteem . . . folks in these movements, they have their own set of facts. Two plus two equals five, so you can’t argue that two plus two equals four, even though we know that that’s the case. You have to take them through situations where they challenge themselves . . . it’s not an easy process; it’s a very, very long process.” 

Picciolini is very much against using the term “lone wolf.” He emphasizes that we need to see these people in their context (if we don’t understand someone, it’s because we don’t understand their context). He points out how supremacists are caught up in a movement they turned to as a result of loneliness and alienation. What he emphasizes is that for many supremacists, there is trauma, hurt, and deep self-hate in their stories that led them down this destructive path. They lacked positive communities in their past and must be steered towards them in the present and future. Picciolini’s approach truly sees the human even in folks who struggle to see it in others. It’s a deeply spiritual path and really, probably the best antidote to hate. As Dorothy Day once said, “Love and more love is the only solution.”  

And while it also might be controversial to say, I believe all these approaches, Bonhoeffer’s, Picciolini’s, Day’s require a certain amount of personal engagement, personal effort, and sacrifice even when it’s with people and ideas we find offensive. It is sort of the burden we’re left with to advocate for change. While I’m always one to encourage advocates to step back into the embrace of community, seeking spaces where we can recharge, I’m also struck at how this continuing engagement is the opposite of the disengagement and implied exclusion driving in the demarcation of “safe spaces” on places like college campuses—exactly the places where young people should be learning about the variety of perspectives in the world. . .even if only to fight them. While I believe we do need these spaces of safety, I don’t know if retreating from the conflict of the world in a permanent fashion will make it any “safer” for those who don’t have the privilege to retreat. 

Unfortunately, if there is one thing I’m learning, the price of fighting hate, racism, injustice is to engage it. That takes energy and engaging can leave us bruised. But if love is to be our antidote, we must remember the first ingredient of love is paying attention.[3] As Bonhoeffer, Picciolini, and Day show, the power of their approach comes from close examination and personal encounters with injustice, with flawed social structures, and with people spouting deplorable ideologies. To dismantle these things, we have to understand them. Not fair. Not easy. Not something we can do without self care and occasional retreats, but that is indeed the nature of the work. 

Be well. Be Blessed. Take care of yourselves and continue to do good work.

__________________________

[1] https://pastordanielhill.com/

[2] https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2019/08/conversation-christian-picciolini/595543/

[3] Thich Nhat Hanh

"Never Again" and the importance of Historical Analogy

By now, many of us have heard about the appalling conditions in the detention centers where Latinx migrants are being kept. If not, link here: ‘There Is a Stench’: Soiled Clothes and No Baths for Migrant Children at a Texas Center . There has also been the photo of the father and daughter downed in the Rio Grande (above) and accompanying articles like this one Perspective | We used to think photos like this could change the world. What needs to change is who we are.

Amid all this bad news, the story of Dr. Satusuki Ina stood out to me: Japanese-Americans held in U.S. internment camps to lead protest against Fort Sill child detention: "It's never too late to do the right thing" Dr. Ina was born in an internment camp for Japanese Americans in the 1940s. Internment left such an impact on her and her family that she became a professor and psychotherapist specializing in trauma. Last Saturday Dr. Ina led a group of formerly detained Japanese Americans joined by a number of Native American groups to protest plans to use Fort Sill in Oklahoma as a detention center for migrant children. In the past, Fort Sill has served as an internment site for Japanese Americans and, before that, Native Americans.

The point that historical parallels are key for interpreting the crises and injustices of today, feels especially salient not only as I read about the descendants and former detainees of Fort Sill protesting this last weekend, but also as this week I am in Nebraska on book tour talking about my grandfather’s World War Two memoir. In pulling together my grandfather’s account (and others) who fought against fascism and Nazism in the 1940s, I am struck by the parallels with our own time, with our country of today. Sadly, they’ve always been there and even some recent work has uncovered how even the Nazi’s ideas of racial supremacy and ethnic segregation were imported from the white supremacists of the United States: White Nationalism’s Deep American Roots. But what I find myself grieving today is the contrast between the heroism of the men and women of a generation that fought to end Nazism, fascism, and what they stood for, and the quagmire of inaction/division we are in today. Why does the gulf between the moral resolve and the courage of the 1940s and the 2010s feel so wide? (Not that they were perfect, FDR was putting Japanese Americans in cages and there was still legal segregation of people of color throughout the US, but there seemed to be no doubt that the Third Reich had to be defeated).

Picture taken by Gordon E. Cross, medic in the 134th Infantry Regiment of the Army National Guard while his division (the 35th, also my grandfather’s) was en-route to the Battle of the Bulge. Cross and my grandfather’s accounts are included in the book Finding St. Lo: A Memoir of War and Family link here: Ted Neill

In the work of dismantling racism, we’re often called to see beyond our “categories” our “tribes”, and our self identifying labels, to recognize the humanity in everyone, regardless of ethnicity, creed, or nationality. To bring it back to the Newsweek article, I see Dr. Ina and those joining her (Native Americans and Japanese Americans) as doing just that. The children in these concentration camps (and yes I called them concentration camps because that is what they are) may not look like Dr. Ina, but she and her protest partners see their plight as their own. Recognizing that we are all children of God, with universal humanity and universal rights, Dr. Ina and others are allowing themselves to be moved to action, their hearts to be broken, by the same things that break God’s heart too. Their courage, their moral resolve, their moral clarity, are refreshingly strong and clear. I suspect history will see them as the greatest of their generation.

Post Note: these articles on the importance of historical analogies being central to the spirit of “never again” are great reads I’ve also included Caitlyn Flannigan’s (influenced by Catholic social teachings like myself) impassioned appeal to Christians.

Opinion | ‘Never forget’ is dead. And it was killed on our watch.

Holocaust Museum's Awful Intervention In the Concentration Camp Debate

Christ in the Camps

Allies Stand in the Gap

Racism is alive and well in the United States. Don’t believe anyone who says otherwise.

One of this week’s news story is a sober reminder of why dismantling racism remains a priority, even in 2019.

From the May 29th edition of the Washington Post:

“Franklin and Jessica Richardson had planned for a relaxing Memorial Day weekend. They would spend Sunday picnicking on the sandy shores of Oktibbeha County Lake, a popular fishing destination on the outskirts of Starkville, Miss . . . Instead, within minutes of their arrival, the young black couple were facing down a white campground manager who pulled out a gun and told them to leave . . . The experience was made all the more harrowing — and somewhat ironic — by the fact that Franklin, a sergeant in the Army National Guard, had recently returned from a nine-month deployment in the Middle East, “It’s kind of crazy,” [Franklin Richardson said] “You go over there and don’t have a gun pointed at you, and you come back home and the first thing that happens is you have a gun pointed at you.”[1]

This is a raw example of blatant racism. It is illustrative of the constant threat violence our black brothers and sisters must always be vigilant for. The comparison to the US as being more dangerous than a war zone for African Americans a poignant and powerful.

It is also a challenge to those of us who consider ourselves allies. Caught in such a situation, there is little moral obligation upon our black brothers and sisters but to preserve their lives and flee. But what of the rest of us? For me, as despicable and repulsive as I find that white woman, as evil as I find her words, I can’t help but feel my knee-jerk instinct to shun her, to label her, to alienate her as a “racist” is only a marginal improvement over her own hate.

Do I answer hate with my own hate? Or something different? What actually would engender change?

In keeping with examples from activists such as Deeyah Khan,[2] I wonder if I might be called to swallow my indignation and at least try to engage first. Ask this woman she holds such views, why she might do such a thing. Instead of shunning her and immediately walking away, are those of us with privilege are we called to engage? To plant a seed of change?

I’d venture an emphatic YES.

It’s the harder choice, certainly. I don’t want to talk to this cruel and ignorant woman. I would never require such of my friends of color. They would be staring down the barrel of a gun. But for those of us don't have the gun pointed at us, I feel our principles require us to engage, to inquire, to speak up, on behalf of those who do. Even if it means engaging with a woman who, on the surface, comes off as morally repugnant. If I don’t, then all my “Black Lives Matter,” T-Shirts and bracelets really are just empty, trendy, virtue signaling.

And maybe I’m not going to run into this exact woman, but I think I’m safe in saying most of us have some neighbor, some relative who, although they might not chase our black friends off with a loaded gun, may harbor some archaic notions on race. I’m not saying we have to make it our life’s mission to change their minds, but I think love and commitment to justice, manifests in the difficult conversations where we confront these attitudes in whatever way will allow the most productive conversation. Maybe that is with righteous indignation (but probably not). More likely, its through humble inquiry, which takes mountains of restraint and patience. The cost to us is might be some energy, some time, and definitely some discomfort.

Where as to people of color like the Richardson’s, the cost could have been their lives.

The work continues.

____________________________________________

[1] A black couple were having a picnic. Then a white campground manager pulled out her gun.

[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deeyah_Khan