Finally, I Rant

Filner, Weiner, Zimmerman, B-29, 50’s, Change, KKK, Skyline, Miami, Cops and anything else which may pop into my head by the time I finish writing this blog. It is probably one of the longest I have written. Oh well.


I have purposely refused to blog anything lately because as my great-grandmother used to say “There is too dern much going on.” I now understand exactly what she meant when she often repeated those words. However, I received an email from a friend of over forty years, and the tone of her email inspired me to write.


The mayor of San Diego, Bob “Filthner,” as some now call him, is someone I had supported for many years. I remember him from his school board days, visited him in his office in Washington when he read into the Congressional Record something about an award I was receiving there (it still hangs in my office, as our daughter reminded me), and had no idea that he was a serial harasser. I am convinced that we never know anyone—we only think we know them. This does not just hold true for politicians, but even some we considered close friends in the past. Anyone can turn on anyone, be it a politician or just a regular Joe. Everyone is captive to his/her own secrets and secret lives, yet we are surprised when they creep out of the darkness. Although I say that very little surprises me these days, sometimes, as in this case, I was surprised. To think that such a champion of the disenfranchised, a former freedom rider, is himself a perpetrator of what he seemingly fought against.This champion of "equality," has been accused by 7 women of sexual harassment, putting them in what is called the "Filner headlock," and making inappropriate comments, along with "kiss requests." Yikes! I find it utterly disgusting and, like most San Diegans, I hope he will resign. I cannot even imagine how he can look himself in the mirror when he wakes up. I can’t imagine how he can turn on the television and see the constant coverage of his outrageous behavior. But, on the other hand, I am sure that there are many hiding behind some outrageous ”in the closet behavior,” that is, any behavior that is despicable, yet hidden. I wonder if even some of us have some kind of “closet” behavior.


Then there is Zimmerman—you know that you should have kept your behind in the car. I don’t care what anyone says—what you did was outrageous. The prosecutors sucked big time, and for that, you are walking free. "If it didn’t come out in the wash, it will come out in the rinse."


Juror B-29, since you didn’t go with your conscience, you probably should have kept it to yourself. I remember being on a jury (I have served at least four times) for a medical malpractice suit. I so wanted to vote on the side of the young lady, but the evidence just would not allow it. It is a conundrum when faced with gut versus evidence, so I understand your angst. Nevertheless, why is it in this “overnewsed” society, everyone needs 15 minutes of fame. Stay in bed with the covers over your face or get therapy (not the two weeks version, however, a la Filner).


I remember the fifties and the early 60s. What I remember most is that no one on television looked like me, and the mom on Leave it To Beaver wore pearls, an apron, and high heels in the kitchen. Some long for those days—I will never long for them. As much as some think that there has not been change, I beg to differ. The problem is that as much as things change, the more they remain the same. The change which has not occurred, is the change in the hearts of men and women. I am sure that folks still use the N word in private when their Black friends are not around. I know that other folks use the H word and C word when their White friends are not around. I am sure that many use other derogatory terms when they are not in the presence of those they reference. I have found racism in many of my so-called “liberal friends,” as well as in the Paula Deen types. The only difference between Deen and others is probably that she spoke the words and admitted it. I know some who speak the words, but would NEVER admit it.


In the midst of it all, I still have hope. I spent most of my life in the company of the next generation—they continue to give me hope. We continue to plant the seeds and hope that strong roots will allow them to grow. I have hope because of my grandchildren—I know that their world is already different. Although I always remind them of the past, because I don’t want it forgotten, I want them to see it in a hopeful light. I want them to know from where we have come, and where they can still go. I still believe in the “Family of Man,” and I know that we have come a long way.


One thing I love about being a born in the South woman, is that we always know that the overt racism there , has always been clearer than the covert racism in other parts of the country. I am always leery when anyone begins a sentence with “I am not a racist.” Live your life in a way that no one will wonder about that.


A reality of life, as we just saw in the Z trial, is that many cops will still stop young black men; many non-cops will still stereotype those they deem different; many women will still cling to their purses and lock their car doors when they see certain folks approaching, and prejudice and bias will still drive many to behave in unseemly ways. Nevertheless, those are givens, and we press on despite that.


My concern right now is young Black men killing other Black men in the Skyline district of San Diego. They are doing the work that the Klan did, and I find it very disheartening. There is so much work to be done, and I hope that the torch is being passed to a new generation. I am encouraging those I have known over the past years, both gang bangers and others, to use what they know for the betterment of the community. Some of the most brilliant students I knew, were considered bangers. If only they could use that good sense for good—what a difference that would be. I see it slowly happening, and for that I am also hopeful.


I am so much a product of my life’s experiences, beginning in Miami, and now on another coast. As I reflect, Miami is what molded me, and made me. Even after so many years in San Diego, I still feel like a Miamian in my soul. Those values, those struggles, those ties, that segregated upbringing—gave me the strength which has carried me and continues to carry me. That upbringing made me believe that I could do anything—I never felt less than anyone—regardless of race or creed—it is what I have tried to project over the years, but society is quite different now. The insulated environments no longer exist. “There is just too much going on.”

So Ranted I!!!!!