IN DEFENSE

I rarely take the hook, but there was something about a particular posting that I couldn’t resist commenting on. A facebook “friend” (yes, I’m still there. I have reasons) posted about the Grammys and the unbelievable audacity to award Beyonce with a Grammy for Best Country Album. The person already had three comments on the post all along the lines of “What is the world coming to?!” So I chimed in my two cents.

Beyonce's country album is great and totally deserving. You can really hear the influences of early country music and gospel in many of the songs. The grammy was intended for "country album" not "Country artist". So she fit well in that category. Growing up when country music was dominated by white men singing about drinking whiskey and cheating on their wives, it's refreshing to hear some diversity.

This comment is completely heartfelt. I am not a ‘woke’ person when it comes to music. I tend to listen to a playlist of the same artists ranging from Neko Case to First Aid Kit, I throw in the occasional Andrew Bird and the National, and have stations that reflect these artists. But I feel it is important to broaden my listening because it’s like traveling to new places. It opens my ears up to new sounds and ideas. It is an empathy builder. Often times, I throw on my headphones before heading off for my coffee walk and pick an artist that is not in my everyday list. Just this morning, I was listening to Douchii and having a dance party at my desk. Beyonce happens to be another one of those artists and I’m not going to lie. I like a number of her songs and I really enjoy her country album for the reasons already stated. I prefer the sound of earlier country music as opposed to today’s country tunes. This is why I often listen to Yola, who sings an old bluesy style of country. Today’s country, to me, sounds like fake country accents rapping to a banjo.

if you’re into listening to two dogs fuckin then sure I get ya other than that it’s pretty dumb

This was the reply left to my comment regarding Beyonce’s win. It is far from constructive and straight up racially inspired hateful. I was a little surprised, but I guess this is something this person feels passionately about considering they were willing to speak to their yoga teacher that way. Yes, this person used to be a regular yoga student. I left it alone. Melissa (who is a mutual Facebook ‘friend’) saw all of it and sent me a text. We’ve decided that Two Dogs Fuckin’ may be our new band name. But the exchange left me pondering what it was/is about Beyonce that induces such violent and visceral reactions. Particularly from suburban white women.

I remember hearing the hoopla and ridiculousness over the release of a country album by Beyonce. Radio stations in Nashville railed against it. Other country artists screamed hatefulness over it. “She’s not country!” “What could she possibly know about country?!?!” “She needs to stay in her lane.” So quickly these people had forgotten the African American influence on country artists. They did not throw such fits when Darius Rucker moved away from Hootie and the Blowfish to country music. Jelly Roll seemed to easily slide from rap into the country scene. Beyonce was born and raised in Houston Texas. I mean…that’s a big boots and chaps and cowboy hats kind of town. She grew up in country music and gospel. Also, these people are artists. Artists explore and experiment with different art forms all the time.

So why is it a problem that Beyonce has done this?

I can only guess that much of the hate thrown at Beyonce stems from not just the color of her skin, but that she is female. Resentment and jealousy genetically passed down starting with antebellum white women who watched their slave owning husbands sire child after child with his slave women. In that patriarchal landscape, the only place the white woman could put her pain and resentment was on that slave woman and the child. Thus began a systemic system of turning jealousy into hatefulness towards other women and particularly women of color. This could have been an excellent opportunity for women supporting women, but no, we once again let misogyny and racism win. Those white suburban women still believe that there is a specific place for everyone. Everyone must fit into their constructed social normative box. This is why they cannot tolerate the LGTBQ+, they’re people that do not fit in a specific place and a strong talented successful black woman blows up their little boxes.

I think if these women truly listened to Beyonce’s music they would discover a lot of commonality. Beyonce presents herself as strong and fierce, but you can hear in her music that she carries all the same insecurities as everyone else and shifting through the hatefulness just to read some constructive criticism probably feels impossible. And when they announced her name at the Grammys, the shock of winning was clearly evident on her face. She had received so much hate by releasing a country album that she probably struggled to comprehend a win in this category; because it is so much easier to see the hate that’s thrown at you than the good.

I don’t know what the sound of two dogs fucking is, not sure I’ve ever heard that, but if that’s the sound of this album then I guess I like it.

SAME

Last week, a judge in New York gave Christopher Belter eight years of probation for the rape of three underage teenage girls instead of prison time. A few days later, Kyle Rittenhouse would be allowed to walk free after murdering Joseph Rosenbaum and Anthony Huber. I know I should be screaming about this, but all I can muster is a shrug because this is what happens in this country. White men, particularly if they have money, get away with rape and murder. Meanwhile Kevin Strickland and Lamar Johnson, two black men who have been proven innocent are still sitting in prison. I don’t even know the number of black men sitting in prison for possession of marijuana right now. One is too many particularly with so many states legalizing the use of it.

My dad used to worry about my safety because I live in what used to be a predominately African American community. It still is, but my street has more white faces now than when I moved in, mostly because of the current housing crisis and gentrification. I would always argue with Dad over his concern. I have not once ever felt unsafe in my neighborhood. Josephine and I walk this neighborhood daily. I talk with my neighbors. I laugh with my neighbors. We are a neighborhood that looks out for one another. I am also not prone to being fearful. I will walk down that dark alley without even thinking about it. With one exception: white men.

If I am walking down a sidewalk and see a group of white men walking in my direction, I will cross the street to avoid them. One white man might be okay, but I’m still going to be on guard. A group of white men? No way. I am not taking the risk. My whole life, any time I’ve been bullied, sexual assaulted, or threatened it has always been a white male doing the bullying, the assaulting and the threatening. They do it not because they were raised by incompetent parents, but because they know they can get away with it. Time after time, history has shown and proven that white men do not have to pay any consequences for their behavior. This is why they remain the most dangerous racial group in America. Now, if you are a white man that I know personally and are currently reading this and your panties are starting to twist up in a wad over what I’m saying, you’re either mad because you know it’s true or you feel guilty for some past behavior. If you are a white man reading this and nodding your head in agreement, it’s because you’ve also been bullied, assaulted or threatened by another white man.

This is why the movie American Psycho is so terrifying. It has nothing to do with all the murder and everything to do with him getting away with all of it. It’s terrifying because it is the truth.

There is a video of Rittenhouse walking down the middle of a street with his assault rifle and not one police officer stops or questions him. George Floyd was murdered by police for the possibility of using a counterfeit twenty dollar bill. No weapons on him. No violent crime committed. Trayvon Martin was walking down the sidewalk when he was shot by a white man. The weapon in his pocket was a packet of Skittles. Tamir Rice was shot by police for carrying a toy gun. If you do not see the hypocrisy and crime in this, then there is no hope for you and you deserve to be labeled a racist.

I feel like I’ve written this all before. I’m afraid I will be writing it all again.

TAKE ME HOME

Stormy sidewalk

"Stormy sidewalk"

Back before they opened up the highway between Pine Bluff Arkansas and Greenville Mississippi, we'd travel across Interstate 40 over to Memphis and then follow highway 78 down through Tupelo to get to Louisville. We'd make this drive maybe once or twice a year to visit Pepaw, my Mom's siblings and their families, and Dad's Mom. There were visits with both of Dad's parents. It's just that those are early and hazy memories.  My Dad's father passed away when I was little. I vaguely remember seeing him in a hospital bed hooked up to all the machines. That was probably the summer Mom had to leave my sister and I with our Aunt Martha. That was the one time I remember flying out there. All the other times we drove, sometimes making a stop at Graceland and staring out the window at the endless fields of farmland. Sometimes we'd drive through during cotton season and you could see the bolls of cotton just cracking open to reveal the white fiber inside. Eventually the fields transition into tall pines and you'd pass logging trucks carrying recently harvested trees. 

We took this same drive down through Mississippi on our way to the beach. For miles and miles we passed signs with names of towns so familiar to me; they are etched into my skin. Tupelo. Egypt. Starkville. Louisville. I was flooded with memories of those trips back when I enjoyed visiting this place. I remember playing with baby bunnies on Aunt Martha's rabbit farm and how she made pancakes for me for dinner because I wouldn't eat the rabbit that had been cooked. I know my Uncle Jimmy said something about it, but I don't remember his words. Only Aunt Martha saying "I won't make that baby girl eat the rabbit." My first introduction to vegetarianism. I remember sitting on Pepaw's back porch that always seemed to be practically enclosed due to the tomato vines he had growing up the trellis around the porch. Every evening we'd make ice cream in one of those old aluminium and wood bucket ice cream makers. Each of us taking a turn at the crank. Pepaw loved ice cream. 

One summer we spent there was the hottest and muggiest of summers. My cousin Melissa pulled a pomegranate from my Memaw's pomegranate tree. I'd never seen or tasted pomegranate seeds before. We busted open the fruit on the concrete steps on the front of the house, the entry way no one every used. Everyone just assumed the back porch was the welcome mat into Pepaw's home. We ate those sweet and slightly tart seeds, staining our fingers and lips a bright fuchsia. I couldn't help but think I'd just been given the most exotic treat. That was the same summer Melissa found the used needle in the ditch as we walked down the street. She held it up for us all to see before dropping it back down in the ditch. That needle was a sign of the encroaching drug problem that was making it's way into the poor rural south. Even Melissa would eventually have her own battle with drug abuse. Finding that used needle was as shocking to me as the pomegranate seeds were exotic. 

I remember playing with toys Pepaw found in the seat cushions of furniture he had reupholstered. Pepaw's upholstery shop was my favorite part of every visit. The building that housed the shop was not much more than a glorified shed. There were always piles of furniture outside in various states of disrepair, waiting for their turn to get new fabric. The inside always seemed dark and dusty. Roles and roles of fabric stacked every spare inch. I loved to run my fingers over the fabrics, feeling the various textures. I can clearly see my Uncle Russel sitting at one of the machines working on something with a needle or two held between his lips. I never saw Pepaw working, but always remember going in there and finding Uncle Russel talking as he ripped apart a seat cushion or tugging a new couch cover onto a new square of foam. I always thought of it as Pepaw's shop, but now I realize that by the time I had come into the family, it had passed over to Uncle Russel's shop. 

The last time I was in Mississippi was for Pepaw's funeral, ten or twelve years ago. I don't know what it was about that trip, but I decided then that I would never go back or more like I didn't have a reason to go back. I want to say the decision to cut off that part was as abrupt as that. Instead it was more gradual. As I grew older it became easier to hear "nigger" and the disdain and judgment as they talked of people and cultures different from theirs'. I didn't know how to respond to people telling me how lucky I was to go to an all white school or how the black people where I lived "just knew their place." I knew without being told that this way of thinking was wrong and it made me shameful. Shameful for not saying anything about it and shameful for having family who could possible think this way. With every trip, I began to notice more and more the poverty of the area and the toll that poverty took on education. It was too easy to drop out and not finish high school. It was just this rolling ball of lack of education and ignorance leading to more hate and discrimination. 

I felt the tears grow hot in my eyes as we passed the exit for Louisville. By now I was a mix of emotions. Sad for the good memories that had tarnished over the years. Angry with those who I let tarnish those memories, people who never cared to come to us for a change. Not even when Dad passed. Disappointed in myself for never standing up and saying "your language and your attitudes are wrong." When we told the Cabbage we were in Mississippi, she asked "what's in Mississippi?" I replied "nothing much." This is what I felt/feel towards a place my parents have always referred to as "home". My name is carved on a stone in the cemetery where all of my ancestors are buried, yet I never felt like one of them.

But then I remember the rabbits, the pomegranate, the ice cream and I turned to Michael and said "it wasn't all bad. I loved my Pepaw and I loved my visits with him." There is a bit of peace in that truth.

OKIE PRIDE

When I see this I know I'm about an hour away from mom and dad

"When I see this I know I'm about an hour away from mom and dad"

It was brought to my attention yesterday that Oklahoma has made national news six times in the last two weeks and not for being shining examples of humanity. "Is this a great state or what?" That's a very good question. I've always had my political problems with Oklahoma. That's no secret. Chris and I raged against the machine of intolerance and ignorance the whole time we lived there. For me? I fought that battle for thirty four years. We believed that Oklahoma could be better than OK. Sure...over time our souls began to show the toils of constant battle and if I'm perfectly honest, I was lured away to a new state by more than just a really great job. Though I still find myself fighting the same kind of battles here. It's just that there's more people fighting along with me which makes the fight not as hard. 

Sunday, a video of the Oklahoma University fraternity Sigma Alpha Epsilon chanting racial slurs went very public. My first thought was "what the fuck is wrong with Oklahoma?" I was embarrassed. I am embarrassed. Shame on those boys. Shame on those parents that taught these boys that this was acceptable behavior. I could easily rant on and on about the gross misconduct of these boys and it's not like we haven't seen this kind of intolerant bigotry behavior before. I grew up in a family where the N-word was used. Those boys probably did too. The difference is I had parents who treated that word as the worse curse word you could ever use against another human being. Those were the same parents who taught me to treat others as I would want to be treated.  

All this national attention on Oklahoma makes it hard to admit that, yes, I am from Oklahoma. I want out-of-staters to know that not all Oklahomans believe this way. We are not all bigots and ignorant. We don't still live tee-pees (seriously, a woman asked us that in DC while on a HS band trip). Oklahoma has a rich history full of strong, hard working people. We come together in times of tragedy and crisis to do what ever it takes to help our fellow Oklahomans in need. Examples include the Murrah Building and any tornado. Oklahomans are proud. In the wake of SAE's video, OU President David Boren immediately stood up and said that this behavior will not be tolerated. He took swift action to remove the fraternity from the university. While some may say that Boren was a little to harsh on SAE, I say no way. "This behavior will not be tolerated." Yeah, it's just a stupid fraternity full of the usual cliche of white rich think's they're privileged white boys. It's not the world. But it makes a statement. Hate will not be tolerated. There are consequences for your bigotry behavior. 

I've never been an OU fan. I'm more of an Oklahoma State Go Pokes! kind of girl. The actions of David Boren and the rallying of OU students in the wake of SAE's grossness, makes me respect that campus a little bit more. They make me hang my head high when I say "I am from Oklahoma." I'm proud to be an Okie.