In the past couple of years, I have noticed a certain complacency that I never noticed before, in my eleven years of leading Swirl. The same passion and the same excitement around building multiracial communities had faded a bit. In the one year leading up to the Presidential election, we launched five new chapters (the norm had been a chapter every year or every other year). People were excited by the energy created by Obama's campaign, and they were motivated and eager to be a part of creating supportive and inclusive multiracial communities.
I wrote this poem during the One City One Prompt event coordinated with Swirl and the Creative Righting Center on September 18, 2011.
Concrete Steps
The streets of New York City become more smoothly choreographed. We don't bump or push or get into quarrels because of such small infractions worsened by ego. We glide past one another, light breezes, punctuated by easy smiles.
For the last couple of weeks I have been grieving. Fuzzy passed away on August 1st. He was my grandfather, but more than that, one of my closest childhood friends, my greatest critic and supporter rolled into one, my favorite grouchy senior.
In my years of diversity work, I am pretty sure about one thing. The people who are "good" at talking about race issues are those who have practiced.
As a participant in discussions about race, I have heard certain white individuals (not all) lament, "I just don't know how to talk about this stuff." And then I have heard some people of color (not all) in turn, say, "I am tired of talking about this stuff every day."
This is - I think - our favorite game to play when it comes to race. Locate the racist, focus on the racist, blog and tweet the crap out of that racist, and shame that racist as much as possible. The racist shouldn't be able to carry on life as he knew it. I too hope for change in the person who took a misstep, but I think we are missing the bigger picture. We use magnifying glasses to focus on individual events rather than seeing the connections and the patterns that point to larger societal problems.
Perfection was cute when we were little. Sure...it was all about being perfect when the task was laid out for us and all we had to do was it. Perfectly. I remember...
Over the last couple of months, I have begun to expect that every un-identified number that pops up on my cell phone is probably connected to a well-intentioned (most of the time) reporter wondering if I could offer my thoughts on Obama‘s mixed race identity. Asking me to comment because of my work with Swirl, they have all wondered how hot of a topic Obama has been amongst other mixed race people. Was everyone excited about it? Were people taking offense to the fact that he was identifying as an African-American man? And what does he mean for the future of mixed race people everywhere? These are just some of the questions that came up during the interviews in which I have taken part (I guess though, that I should at least mention my favorite of all, “What if Obama identified as a white man? What would people think of that?” The best rhetorical question I have heard in a while. If nothing else, these conversations surely have been entertaining).
At the annual cookie swap that my mom and I have in December (yesssss, I said cookie swap), her friends called me into the kitchen. Somehow, word had gotten out that I wasn't yet sure for whom I was voting. So here I was, standing in front of a group of about ten middle-class, middle-aged white women, all seemingly for Hillary. And they looked at me. "Soooooo, Jenny?! Who's it going to be? I mean, Hillary is your Wellesley sister after all!!!" Wow, trying to play the Wellesley card. Dirty and low. I took a deep breath, considered getting into it with them...but then decided not to, since my thinking wasn't yet fully formed. That, and at least 5 seriously arched eyebrows told me better. I said, "Ya knooooowwww, let's just enjoy the cookies, ok?" They let me off the hook, but I knew that this would be a tough one. A situation in which people were going to want to see whether I cared more about sexism or racism. After all, this is how people are looking at this race.
I hung out with Katie this weekend – she has gotten so big. The last time I saw her, she mostly looked at me with wide-open googly eyes, but on Saturday, she was completely with me. She laughed and giggled, made funny faces, and ate my hair. We had a great time. Her mom, Lorraine, is my closest friend from high school, like a sister to me, so this is really the first baby of my friends to whom I will be close. It’s pretty amazing and unreal to me, still.
In the months leading up to Katie's birth, I would sit around with Lorraine and Harry, the future mom and dad, talking about what she would be like.
2008 is the year of the written word, as far as I am concerned.
Writing more is my resolution for this year. I have a love-hate relationship with writing, and I always have. It’s been a roller-coaster with us -- periods of intensity where we can’t get enough of each other, and then long weekends where I don’t want to have anything to do with writing and can’t bear to be near it. I have had a basic understanding of the ups and downs of our relationship until just recently, when everything became a bit more complicated. Now I recognize that there is yet another layer to our dynamic – whether I love or hate writing depends on whether it is private or public.
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