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The Matriarch King is Dead

The Matriarch King is Dead

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“Women, if the soul of the nation is to be saved, I believe that you must become its soul.”
— Coretta Scott King

Coretta Scott King is dead.

A woman of grace and strength and courage and dignity is gone.

Equality. Human Rights. Non-violence. Peace.

She worked hard to keep these ideas out front and center as solid goals for our country. She fought alongside many others for a national holiday in honor of her husband’s birthday. She opened the King Center (Martin Luther King Jr. Center for Nonviolent Social Change-the site of his tomb and of good works to support the dream) here in Atlanta. She spoke out on a wide range of issues (every last one of which is completely disregarded if not actively opposed by the current administration). She raised four children, too – and I hope they can learn to resolve their differences about where their parents’ legacy should take them as a family. The Kings belong to us all.

I am stuck here today with no transportation. I feel a deep urge to go to the King Center. I wish that I could. I am sending out my deep support and caring for everyone in America who feels this emptiness like I do today. The Matriarch King Coretta is gone, another good strong voice gone. May her memory inspire others.

On local news, I heard Rev. Joseph Lowery (former president of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, among other things). He was asked if he thought there were young people rising up to replace the likes of these heroes of our nation.

He said no. Then he explained in a clear, gentle way (that I can’t duplicate) that no-one can replace King, or anyone. It’s not a matter of replacing. They walked in their own shoes, they had their own history, they thought what they thought, they did what they did.

Young people can’t replace anyone.

They can, however, be inspired and motivated by them – to be fully themselves and find their own work.

I watched film footage of the Kings and others, and the tears rolled down my face. What a woman she was.

They call her “the widow of slain civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr.” (note that they don’t use the word “assassinated” much anymore), but she worked strongly for the same goals he did. She didn’t suddenly care about freedom and justice – only just in support of her husband’s memory – but was an strong voice of activism in her own right.

Freedom. Justice.

I don’t remember anytime in my life before when these two words have been so stripped and twisted and misshapen as now. Freedom? Justice? We’ve degraded these words into meaninglessness. I do hope that there are those among the young who will rise up.

I can’t really explain how I felt when I went to CNN and saw the top two headlines:

Coretta Scott King dies
Alito confirmation expected today

The juxtaposition gave me a chill. Today our Senators will show how little they value King’s work – Alito cometh.

I think our dear leader would be wise to keep the hypocrisy to a minimum if he tries to say anything about her death in the State of the Union Speech tonight. His policies haven’t shown much concern for what she stood for and worked for.

I’m going to force myself to watch this speech, although it will be painful. It’s my civic duty.
And I have a feeling about it, which I need to verify or disregard.

Today:
1865: The 13th Amendment to the Constitution passes, abolishing slavery in the United States.

More words from Coretta Scott King:

“If American women would increase their voting turnout by ten percent, I think we would see an end to all of the budget cuts in programs benefiting women and children.”

“My mother always told me that I was going to go to college, even if she didn’t have but one dress to put on.”

“Struggle is a never ending process. Freedom is never really won you earn it and win it in every generation.”

“Every person is a child of god and every human being is entitled to full human rights.”

“We have got to stand firm for a more compassionate health care system, which leaves no person behind — a system that takes responsibility to insure that no citizen be denied medical care because they lack adequate insurance. There is something wrong with a system that requires telethons for sick people, but always has a blank check ready for the Pentagon. The Cold War is over, but we still have a Cold War military budget, which is draining needed financial and human resources that should be invested in the health security of the American people. ”

“The gay bashers and homophobic people are the best allies AIDS could have. By preaching hatred and fear of gay people, they are creating a climate that discourages openness and education about AIDS which can help prevent its spread. They spread shame and guilt where their should be compassion and healing.”

“Justice is never advanced in the taking of a human life. Morality is never upheld by legalized murder.”

“The King Holiday celebrates Dr. King’s global vision of the world house, a world whose people and nations had triumphed over poverty, racism, war and violence. The holiday celebrates his vision of ecumenical solidarity, his insistence that all faiths had something meaningful to contribute to building the beloved community.”

“Homophobia is like racism and anti-Semitism and other forms of bigotry in that it seeks to dehumanize a large group of people, to deny their humanity, their dignity and personhood. This sets the stage for further repression and violence that spread all too easily to victimize the next minority group.”

“I still hear people say that I should not be talking about the rights of lesbian and gay people and I should stick to the issue of racial justice. But I hasten to remind them that Martin Luther King Jr. said, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” I appeal to everyone who believes in Martin Luther King Jr.’s dream to make room at the table of brother- and sisterhood for lesbian and gay people.”

“I think that nonviolence allows you and empowers you to do what is necessary, because what you do is build coalitions. You can’t do all of it by yourself, but you can put together a coalition and get other people involved, or join organizations that are already involved and continue to work to eradicate poverty, of course, since poverty is still with us, very much so. My husband — it was one of the triple evils that he talked about — poverty, racism and war. And of course, they all are forms of violence, and we have to continue to work to make sure that people everywhere have a decent livelihood, that they have jobs, they have housing, they have health care, they have quality education. All of these areas that we still have to work on and to improve, so that the quality of life for all people is improved, and we can achieve indeed the “beloved community” that Martin talked about, that I believe in.”

Defining Childhood Event

Defining Childhood Event

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Saturday Slant (ok, yeah, a little late)

Defining Childhood Event
If asked to pick just one, what event of your childhood most shaped the person you are now? We are all the sum of our laughter and tears. As children, events occur in and around our lives that shape our world forever more. Which one event—for better or for worse—might you say shaped you? Why was it significant? How do you feel about it? How does the effect of that event reach across the years to influence your adult life now?

There are a dozen or so such events, having to do with being involved with the Jehovah’s Witnesses, with changes in socio-economic class and with important support and influences. If I were to choose the event that most shaped the person I am now, I would be hard-pressed to choose. I don’t think I can do it, really.

I’ll pick one that is in the top five – my parents’ divorce. It isn’t the most unusual or even perhaps the most interesting, but everyone needs to keep a few secrets.

My parents divorced when I was 9. I remember that my parents actually told me that they were getting a divorce, but I didn’t know what a divorce was – I had some idea that it was something like a business trip. One day, my father (who I feared and adored) was just gone – along with a lot of our stuff. For some time, I thought he was coming back. After a while, we started to see him on either Saturdays or Sundays.

We moved into a new apartment and I went to a new school. In place of a wonderful yard with lilac bushes and a big swing on a huge crabapple tree and wild grapes and the freedom to range around in the neighborhood, I looked out on a backyard that was simply a sandpit full of dog excrement. The neighbors were.. um.. less friendly. My imaginary world turned away from the extensive fantasies I had projected onto the outside world – no more worlds of the faery and the magical. I started to play the piano and to dance and to read, spending almost all of my time indoors. The public library was a block away, and I spent a lot of time there as well. My mother was working all of the time and we became latchkey kids. I took over responsibility for my two younger brothers – whether to the good or not they would have to say. Truth tell, I was a little bossy, when I paid attention to them at all. At 9 and 10 and 11 – I wasn’t ready for a parental role – I did my best.

My relationship with my father was troubled, partly because of his own problems and vulnerabilities that I didn’t grasp at all. Like many children, I felt that if I had been better he would still be living with us. This feeling was compounded by the complications of being a Jehovah’s Witness – a matter too convoluted to get into here, but suffice to say that the feeling of not being good enough was only amplified. My image of God became a lot like my “father” of the imagination (one more reason that I prefer other metaphors for God than that of the father). For many years, I had a very twisted idea of what had actually happened between my mom and my dad, and even now, even now, I’m not sure that it’s all settled inside me. The one thing that has become clear is that blame is pointless and that it takes two to make or break a relationship. My parents subsequently remarried, leaving me with steps (and later ex-steps, since they both eventually divorced their second spouses as well) that could be the topic of many more strange and awful posts of the future – unlikely that I will write about them, actually.

Between the divorce and my parents’ other issues, I began to feel that no matter how good I was or how smart I was or how well I did anything, that I would never be good enough – not good enough for anyone to truly care about me or love me, not good enough for God, not good enough for myself. I became at once tremendously insecure and extremely critical of others, holding them up as well to the impossible standards that I had internalized.

My orientation is still critical, and one of the things I’m always working on is to become more patient, welcoming, compassionate and forgiving of myself and others. That I am intelligent only makes this more difficult because I more easily slip into a perspective in which I feel I’m surrounded by idiots. Then I have to remember that I’m an idiot too and that there are many kinds of intelligence. To the extent that I accept myself I am able to accept others. It is surprising how long it took for me to reach what seems like a simple piece of wisdom.

My concern with contextual ethics – that all sides of a situation be voiced, and as many perspectives as possible explored before making judgment – stems from this stormy time. My lifelong insecurity and the nervous laughter that still infects me from time to time also dates from this period. I am thankful that I have finally understood some of the dynamics, but I also have many regrets, including the gap that was never entirely healed between my father and myself. He died in December 2003 and although I sought his love and acceptance all my life, I never really acknowledged the ways in which I continued to keep him distant until he was gone.

The divorce changed everything, everything. I think it has a lot to do with why I was a “serial monogamist” for so long, and with why I was in my 30’s before I was able to have a healthy loving relationship in which I felt confident and secure. My terror of abandonment, my feeling of being unlovable and my inability to allow love had complicated things for a long time.

I understand that some marriages are very destructive, but I also understand how profoundly divorce affects kids. I also understand how difficult it is to be all alone in raising a child or children – this very difficulty may well have influenced my mother’s choice for our stepfather.

Now, a mom myself, I look at our son and I can finally understand how wrong I was about myself when I was young. Ben has taught me more than any study or introspection or analysis.

In my imagination, I travel back to that little girl, hug her tight, and tell her it is going to be all right… and it is.

Done

Done

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Well, it’s done. I got “hooded” for my PhD today. It was a long day and it started early – but it was worth every minute. I had some wonderful conversations with other graduating PhDs and a few of the faculty as well. John was there clapping madly for me, and I didn’t even trip when I stepped up to pick up my large empty folder (the diploma has been on my wall since last September). I was even able to say brief hellos to a few of my colleagues – Steve, Julie, Jay, James – and to give a big hug to VA (a kind of faery godmother who told me that the dissertation was done – when it wasn’t – and made me believe that I would finish – and I did). Even the weather cooperated. The only thing I regret was that I didn’t actually see my director, who was busy handing out undergraduate diplomas. My other local committee member was very nice, and didn’t even topple the cap as he put the hood over my head (I am always amazed when things like that don’t happen at public events).

I highly recommend the experience.

Everywhere I looked, people were smiling at me. I haven’t felt like that in a long long time – it was a liberating sensation. On the way home, we stopped at the post office so that I could mail off my mom’s birthday package. Still in full regalia, I made a bit of a picture. The three postal workers all stopped for a moment and spontaneously grinned at me and started clapping. I have rarely felt such warmth in this city. Then we stopped at a gourmet-food-to-go place that I favor – partly because I have become friends with Mary, who seems always to be working there during the times I drop by. She grinned too.

I hadn’t slept much last night. For some reason I was really keyed up. My relationship with the university has had a few ups and downs, and I suppose I was a little bit ambivalent. But this is one thing that universities do well, and I wanted the ceremony and the closure and the sense of acceptance. We had to get up astoundingly early for someone of my somewhat nocturnal habits – especially since I had only slept for an hour or two and that intermittently. By the time we returned home at about 3:30 – I was dropping from exhaustion. I could have hunted up some friends and gone out to celebrate I suppose, but all I really wanted to do was drop.

So now it’s done. At last. All in all, a lovely day.

The Problem with Fundamentalists

The Problem with Fundamentalists

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Welcome to my blog of random musings.

Before Oswald, did snipers have “nests”?

Someone posted an anonymous comment on my tag board saying that they peed in my pool. I’m assuming it’s an alumn from Attleboro High School. It’s been that kind of a week. Here’s my fundamentalism poem – a former fundy JW myself, I can do this. 😉

The Problem with Fundamentalists
(with apologies to John Cale)

The problem with fundamentalists
They live by the rules
No matter the context
The rules always rule

The problem with a fundamentalist
She looks at a sentence
Whole chapters and books
And she stops at the sentence

The problem with a fundamentalist
He stops at the light
No one coming, wife in labor
He still stops at the light

The problem with fundamentalists
Their god is too cruel
Ruled by their own fears
They too become cruel

The problem with fundamentalists
They’ve missed the whole point
All courage and faith
Aimed at the wrong point