August 2009 Archives

When I used to hear that someone was a Republican, I tended to stay away from all political discourse with them. I just couldn't be bothered to get into it anymore. Last time I did, it got SO heated, SO crazy that me and the old man had to physically be separated. Lesson learned. Never talk politics with a boyfriend's ultra-Republican father who you just met for the first time while on a 7 day cruise at the start of a two week vacation. It might get ugly and stay that way. 

But, in the past few years or so, I've found myself having this weird fascination with and appreciation of Black Republicans. You see, I used to think that all Black people were Democrats. I think my Nana had something to that. My freshman year in college, she sent me an absentee ballot to participate in my very first election, with the threat to vote Democrat down the line, or get my butt kicked. That was an easy choice for me. So I voted for Bill Clinton, our first Black President, as Toni Morrison referred to him.

It didn't matter to Nana what the politicians' names or their exact positions on the issues were. What mattered was that they were Democrats and were the only ones looking out for people like us, poor Black people. In a precursor to Kanye's famous live statement, Nana once said "Republicans don't give a **** about Black people!" And from what I saw when I looked around at our South Bronx existence, especially during the Reagan era, she wasn't lying.

So the idea of a Black Republican had just never made any sense to me. I didn't understand it. I mean, how could you be on the side that doesn't care about you and your people? How could you support policies that thwart progress in your community and then be against those that were created to aid in that progress (affirmative action)? I couldn't wrap my brain around it. Clarence Thomas? I just didn't get it.

But as I got older, I realized that it wasn't so black and white, pardon the pun. Some would say that if the Democrats cared so much about Black folk, then why did Bill support and sign Welfare Reform, which in theory might have seemed like a good thing, but in practice contributed to Black people's further slide into the poverty abyss, especially Black children. Or his tough-on-crime stance that did nothing to get to the root of the problem of crime in our communities, but greatly added to the incarceration rate of young Black men... I guess Bill wasn't so 'Black' after all, huh? I'm just saying.

Sorry Nana, but Democrats don't always give a **** about Black people either.

Which brings me back to the Black Republican.

It was Colin Powell and Condoleezza Rice that helped me see the Black Republican and Black people as a whole in a new light. It's never easy being an outsider, or going against the grain of conventionality. But they did, holding extremely powerful positions in government. That's great for all of us, even if the policies and platforms they supported weren't in our best interest. Black people shouldn't all think the same, do the same, believe the same. Black people need a presence everywhere, in all facets and in every capacity, even if we don't agree with them or like them.  You know you've arrived when you can dislike a Black Supreme Court Justice as much as you do his conservative white counterpart. I just think that's awesome. Now that's progress.

There's more than one way for us to get to the mountaintop. My hats off to those taking the one least traveled.

Yesterday, I was parked in front of a strip mall restaurant and noticed a man holding a leash. The man was standing near a pillar, so I couldn't see what was on the other end. Understand, I am a huge dog lover. So, I couldn't wait to see what kind of doggie the man had. Was it a little hot dog, or a big mastiff? A puggle or a pit?

I was recently flipping through the new issue of "Italian Vogue: The Barbie Issue" and it sparked a trip down memory lane and reminded me of the subjects of race and class in America.

One summer day, I was playing outside with a childhood friend and her cousin in front of the cousin's house. "We have to go to the bathroom, we'll be back," they said. When they came back, they invited me  upstairs to play with Barbies. Cool, I thought. But when I got upstairs, I soon realized that the girls' bathroom break was really a chance for them to scope out their dolls. They had it planned out all along. There were three Barbies: two beautiful Black ones and one busted, crazy looking white one. Well, since I didn't have to use the bathroom earlier, guess who got the white one. Whomp, whomp.

The Black Bougie Barbies had the prettiest hair and the best clothes, a car and a fierce townhouse. Those Black beauties had it all! And then there was me, stuck with the white trashed Barbie. She was homeless with jacked up, over-processed-looking hair, rags for clothes, and had to walk everywhere with no shoes and that arch. The Black Barbies were a constant reminder that the raggedy Barbie was not on their level. White Barbie, it seemed, had lost all her power. Some would say that's progress. Yeah, when you're the Black one. But when you're playing with the white Barbie, it's class warfare!

I thought "play" was supposed to be fun. This wasn't fun! It was demoralizing! I never wanted to play with Barbie ever again, Black or white!

As I was writing this blog, I realized something. As much as it hurt my feelings at the time to be treated as the stepchild, perhaps it was serving a greater purpose. Two beautiful, Black sassy children got to act out their fantasies of upward mobility and prosperity. They felt empowered. They were experiencing 'the dream'. And through white Barbie, they were free to give the middle finger to 'the man'. Black Barbie was a Black power symbol. Who knew.

I must confess...

I am guilty of racial profiling.

Yeah, I know it's horrible, but it's true.

Let me explain...

The hubby and I love to go on morning hikes together in the hills of the San Gabriel Mountains out behind our house in Southern California where we live. It's our chance to spend some time together before we go on with the rest of our day. There's nothing like a beautiful nature stroll to help clear your mind and spirit.

Since my husband Dave is an Eagle Scout, he knows everything about the poop and paw prints of the wildlife that roam those hills: the deer, coyotes, bobcats, and (gulp!) mountain lions.

I dread the day that when I'm out hiking alone, as I sometimes do, I may actually encounter a mountain lion. Dave, the Eagle Scout, says that if you are ever confronted by one, you should stand your ground, make a lot of noise, throw rocks, raise your arms to appear larger, and never, ever turn and run. Running will only make the animal chase you down.

Yeah, okay... I'll try and remember that... Me being the chicken that I am, I can't see myself doing anything other than running and screaming for my life, choosing the flight over the fight. Oh, and did I mention that there's rattlesnakes in dem dare hills? Uggggh! What's wrong with me????

But there's one thing that I actually fear more than a mountain lion or rattlesnake encounter: it's the lone, sketchy white dude on a secluded hiking trail. That really freaks me out...

Maybe I've watched way too much TV. Maybe I've seen too many of those real-life crime solving shows that start with a woman's body being found in the woods. Maybe I've just seen too many profiles on serial killers.

Whatever it is, if I see a solo white dude on a trail between the ages of 25-35 and I'm alone, I'm on high alert--is that amber? I know it's wrong, I know it's racially insensitive, but I can't help it. I've actually cut a hike short because the dude that rolled up behind me on the trail looked too much like Jeffrey Dahmer and I wasn't waiting to find out if they were kin. 

I'm bad, I know...

I need help...

Professor Henry Louis Gates, Jr. I see you.

And, Mr. President, I guess the next round is on me?