Why Not Smoke 'Em Since you Got 'Em?: The

Debra Dickerson's take on the return of late night pundits return to TV in January sans writers.

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Rove Resigns To Spend More Time With Self

WASHINGTON—Republican strategist Karl Rove announced that he would step down from his role as White House deputy chief of staff to spend more time in the shadows. "I've been away from the shadows too long, and it's put a strain on my relationship with those black forces I hold dear," an emotional but upbeat Rove said.

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The Great White Way

Debra Dickerson could have ended this piece after this statement:
"...more Americans will come to accept that race is an arbitrary system for establishing hierarchy and privilege, good for little more than doling out the world's loot and deciding who gets to kick whose butt and then write epic verse about it."

My inclination is to go with oft used text abrv8shn "LOL'd" when I read this comment. But what happened way beyond LOL. I let rip with a good, old fashioned GUFFAW on this one.

Actually, I am glad she continued with treatise because then we get:"...current discussions about affirmative action refer to events that took place seven, rather than four, decades ago, when it wasn't called affirmative action but business as usual. He's frustrated by the anemic arguments of his liberal allies, who rely on the most tenuous, least defensible of grounds—diversity—while their opponents invoke color blindness, merit, and the Constitution. In short, affirmative action can't be wrong now when it was right—and white—for so long."

I just got some time, recently to catch up on the Mojo (Mother Jones) Blog. This post is one of the reasons Ms. Dickerson is my "blidol" (blog idol) even when I disagree with her.

Racist like Mommy?

My blidol (blog idol) Debra Dickson weighs in on study touting mothers' influence on kiddy racism.

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The World’s Most Famous Photoshop Fakes

While that might be a creative opportunity for artistic photographers and designers, for news editors, it can all be a bit of a nightmare — and for readers too when the photos skip the newspapers and land straight in your mailbox. Here are seven of the most famous photoshop fakes.

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Merry High - Classes of '62 and '63 Dance the Night Away

Woman, Know Thy Strength

Former President Richard Nixon confirmed that women are stronger than men in 1992. He did it with this comment about Presidential candidates wives, "If the wife comes through as being too strong, and too intelligent, it makes the husband look like a wimp." Think of it in this light, if a kitten meows too loudly beside a lion, the lion will be less ferocious. Please! If you walk into a room with both a kitten and a lion, and the kitten is meowing and acting ferocious, you will still keep your eye on that lion. You know where the strength is in that room.

Nixon makes it clear in his statement that (he believes) a man's wife displaying her full strength and intelligence will usurp that of her man. If the lion is a lion, the kitten cannot make him any less a lion. But if he can only be a lion if his partner, the kitten, keeps quiet, then is he really a lion? You get my point.

This whole argument jumped out because the Sunday, August 28, 2007 edition of the NY Times carried an article in its Week in Review section entitled "They Stand by Their Men, Loudly". In it, the author talked about how Elizabeth Edwards and Michelle Obama present themselves in their husbands' campaigns for the Democratic presidential nomination. Take a look at the article, it will make you ponder this question.

White Entitlement

Need to know and feel the pain of the black American's struggle for civil rights in this country? If you are my age or older, you have some real memory of Jim Crow and his aftermath. For those of you too young to have lived through any part, go to Memphis, Tennessee to the National Civil Rights Museum. There you get a pictorial and memorabilia tour of what it was like to be "3/5 of a man", to be relegated to the "back of the bus" and to be sprayed with a fire hose for finally refusing to take it any more.

The good thing about the museum is that it is there. The sad (but necessary) thing is that no photos or cameras are allowed. The signs are posted and often, during peak times, someone is at the door requesting that all camera's be checked. This system, of course, relies on the honor system as today's cell phone and digital cameras cannot be detected or seen without an actual search.

Recently, on visiting the museum, I noticed a woman with quite a visible camera, with a telephoto lens taking photos inside the museum. She did not attempt discretion or show the least amount of contrition for her blatant disregard of the rules. The most evident aura around her, was her air of entitlement. Her posture, her expresssion, everything said, " I am a white woman in a museum honoring black heroes. Heroes or not, I am a white woman, so I am entitled to whatever I want."

I felt a mixture of hurt, anger, and shame as I watched. Unfortunately, I could not, in good conscience, approach or reprimand her. For I, too, had disobeyed the camera rule that day. My only defense, I did out it of love for another, not for any financial or personal gain. What was her reason?

It's On!

A vote for Hillary is a vote for Bill. The words we dare not speak. The truth hits the fan. But we have to admit it...we want him back. Only she can bring him back to us, so we follow her. Through Hillary we get health care, a balanced budget (surplus!) jobs, prosperity, compassion for others, and most of all intelligence and discriminating thought, all that Bill brought us. All these are things we have missed for so long in our government. With the U.S. being the leader of the free world, what we are without, the whole world is without, on some level.

Salon.com featured The Bill and Hillary Show. It is really on. Bill is here, Hillary is on and the show must continue to its rightful end...President Clinton...back in the White House.

Hillary...You Gotta Love Her?

Undecided about Hillary Clinton? I'm not. She is my 1st choice for President of the United States. I admire her. I respect her. But, no, I do not, necessarily, like her, if you use that term to mean warm, cosy feelings.

Judith Warner's column is a good explanation of how many of Hillary's contemporaries feel about her. While she does not evoke any venomous dislike as is described in Judith Warner's column for me, Hillary, likewise, does not exactly warm my heart.



One of the things that happens with age and maturity is your choices are less often based on what you like and what feels good (although that will always be true of some choices), but they are more likely to be based on what you know is best. Your head choices start to outnumber your heart choices.

The cover story of the the June 3, 2007 issue of the New York Times Magazine confirmed that my choice of Hillary for Prez is a head choice. This country has been ravaged and ruined for the last 7 years by a soulless, unimaginative, uninformed figurehead that believes himself to be a leader. You don't send a boy (Barack Obama) to do a woman's job. It is best not to send one who leads with his heart (John Edwards) to do a job that needs a superior head.

I love Obama, he would likely be my next choice in 2016 (supposing Hillary in 2008 and repeat in 2012...quite a stretch). Even more than Obama, I have a place in my heart for Edwards, but not this time. We need a "mama bitch", as a good friend said, to clean up this mess.

Take some time, read Hillary's War. You'll see what I mean.

Grows on You

Since I have been subscribing to The Last Plantation...is the Mind, I have become familiar with the writings of John Schwade. At first I was not overly impressed as I found his writing a bit tedious and overly detailed. But I kept reading because his subjects were usually so captivating. Well, he has now become a favorite. I find myself, now, trolling the Internet looking for me more than I get on Plantation.

This story from the News Observer, about the murder of Denita Smith, a young NC grad student, put me over the edge. I am now, officially, a John Schwade fan. You will hear more about him here.

Good-bye Ton...

Yes, it is over. The Sopranos are no more. I sat on the sofa last night watching the final episode of Tony Soprano, his family, and all his paisans. At the time, I was not sad, just apprehensive and excited. My excitement was sprinkled with dread and carried along by hope, but hindered by fear. Suppose Tony gets whacked. I can't bear it! Suppose he turns states evidence and totally wimps out. I can't bear it! Heaven forbid something should happen to Carmela. Oh, God, not that! This is my mind on Sunday, June 10, 2006.

Then it is 8:55 p.m. CDT. Tony is still intact with his credentials still in place. He sits down at a diner to wait for his family for dinner. The door to the restaurant opens, is this it? No, Carmela saunters over with a look of self-possession and a warm, sexy smile for Tony. Again, that door... a sleazy guy with haunched shoulders and cap pulled low slinks in and eases up to the bar. But it's OK, A. J. bounces in behind him and joins Tony and Carmela. They talk a bit about A.J.'s new Tony-finagled movie industry gig. The sleazy guy gets up from the bar and eases into the men's room. (To get the gun, ala The Godfather?) While outside Melody struggles to parallel park her car so she, too, can join the family. AHHHH! Why are they showing that? It's Melody! Someone is going to shoot her and Tony will run out to save her and catch a rain of bullets in the gut. Oh God, Nooooo! All this and I am no longer reclining on the sofa. I am sitting up, eyes bugged out, literally sweating (no wait, that's a hot flash!). OK, the car is parked, Melody bounces out, crosses the street barely missing getting run over and enters the restaurant. Music...black out....WHAT! Did the cable go out?!!??....credits roll.

Man, what a finish! You fill in the blanks.

Dick Cavett tried to get me ready, but even he was off the mark. Take a look anyway, great blog post!

R I P ... Freedom of the Press

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."

Bill Moyers spoke at the 2007 National Conference for Media Reform in Memphis, TN. The gist of this speech is summed up in this quote from that address:

"So if we need to know what is happening, and Big Media won’t tell us; if we need to know why it matters, and Big Media won’t tell us; if we need to know what to do about it, and Big Media won’t tell us … we have to tell the story ourselves."

Read the entire speech here. Be prepared to be afraid...very afraid if you care about access to and quality of information free from propaganda.

I Surrender

Now I know. I knew I was not ready for what God wanted me to do here. I thought all it would take was time and opportunity. But no. What God meant when He kept telling me "not yet" was that I was not even ready to get ready. Now He says I am. God is good. He allowed me to get all I thought I had to have. He gave me some strength, will, and self-confidence before He to revealed His first part of the plan. I must become "like a child" again with Him as my Father.

He gave me Grace to speak for him. So last night I asked Him to come into my life and be my Savior. Peace. Instant peace. When I awoke this morning, my 1st realization was how strong and well my body felt. Then I was aware of an intense sense of well-being and barely suppressed euphoria. I felt God fill me from my head to my toes. What joy! Everything looked new and more beautiful than the day before.

I am no longer afraid. I am a child of God. I am safe. I no longer have to be in control. I have surrendered to him. I only have to be here and listen to His Word. I am. I will.

I love God with all my heart, soul, and mind. There is no other. I will serve him forever. This I know if I know nothing else. By the Grace of God, I am.

Wishing for a Book

Some read for pleasure. Some read for information. Some read to study, while others simply read what is required for work. I read to live. Take whatever you want, but do not take away my ability to read or my access to a wide variety of reading material. If you do, you take away my life.

Beyond the stack of books, magazines, and newspapers appropriated at various locations throughout my home, I have an online Wish List on Amazon. Want to know what's on it? Well, here it is:

My

Spritual Visits and the Lillie Tree (Sunday, April 29, 2007)

Time spent with God this morning giving thanks and asking for guidance was rewarded with assurances from Him that He has my destiny in hand. I only need listen, hear, and heed. I do, I did, I will. He took me to visit Mama this morning and sat with me in the sun with her and my coffee. We talked, she smiled on me and sent me on my way, for the day.

The afternoon I placed a tribute to Lillie, my sister in a spot in my backyard. It is a beautiful, strong little dogwood that will grow through summer and winter, flowering in the spring, just as she did in life. God even gave me the spot. Not long ago a man showed up at my door. He introduced himself as Bubba Reed, a buyer and seller of antiques. The odd part was he told me that he was my ex-neighbor's father. But that ex-neighbor's father died last year. He gave me a card, 5 bucks, and hauled off the decrepit old bird bath from the corner of the fenced area of my backyard. The spot was bare. I looked out back for a place to put the dogwood, and the spot beckoned...here.

This Week: Good, Better, Best, and Not So Good

This past week had some of everything. I cannot remember feeling so complete. Ever. Can I say that again. Ever. I say complete, instead of happy. Happy is a nebulous, transitory state that cannot be and should not be sustained. It is a feeling...not a state of being and cannot be relied upon to bring peace, contentment or a closeness to God...all the things that make life complete for me. But I had it this weekend. Let's start with the good...

I realized a long-time dream. Actually, I realized it nearly a year ago, but I was so blocked by circumstances at that time, I never saw it. But this time I did. One dream of mine was to write and publish a magazine article. Well, I have written that article, and it is going to be published. Granted it is a university publication, but a publication nonetheless. The article is entitled "Dreams Deferred...Dreams Realized: Lambuth Nontraditional Students Juggle Life and Education". It will not just be published, it will be the featured, cover story of the magazine.

Even Better...I experienced Chris Botti, jazz trumpeter, in concert at the Orpheum in Memphis.
The music, the elegant theatre, and warm spring night combined to make it an evening unlike any other for me. Not just because of the details mentioned here. I have listened to good music in beautiful theatres on warm nights before. But this time, I was complete. I had everything I needed and was glad. I thanked God for his goodness and graciousness in healing me. In giving me love and guidance back to the light.

The next day was spent in the sun on the edge of the Tennessee River, walking, reading, taking photos, and enjoying the feel of the sun warming my face and the breeze caressing me. Again, I felt complete. I am grateful for that.

Ahhh...the Best. I know Grace. Grace, defined as "the influence or spirit of God operating...to regenerate or strengthen...." I returned from Memphis and spent the evening and early morning in the presence of Grace. I will say no more here about that. There are no other words that can describe that. Just know that it is.

But there is still...the Not So Good. A very good friend called to say her brother, who has terminal cancer, was rushed to the hospital with very serious complications. She was rushing off to Phoenix to be with him and his family and to be an intermediary with the doctors (she is an RN). All my love and best wishes to her...praying for her strength.

May God be with her and her family.

More Comments from The Last Plantation & Debra Dickerson

NCCU Student Advocates "physical retribution" against innocent Duke Students

Debra Dickerson posted a piece on her blog, The Last Plantation...is the Mind from a student council member from North Carolina Central Universtiy, Solomon Burnette. In case you missed it, NCCU is the school where the young black woman attended that accused the Duke la crosse team members of rape.

His piece, as a whole was weak and left me feeling exposed. But he did make one statement that explained my pain about this situation. In describing was happened that night, Burnette said,

"The women were, according to all accounts, called “nigger” and told to penetrate themselves with broomsticks (see Abner Louima). One of these women said that she was raped by three of these inebriated white men. People in power and those without disbelieved her. This is sickening."

That did it for me. Here is the comment and Debra's reply on The Last Plantation:

Yvonne Thompson wrote:
I subscribe to The Plantation and, at least, scan the posts as they come in. I have to thank you for posting this one, Debra. Somehow I wasn't sure why I felt (as a black woman) so uncomfortable, and once again, betrayed when the Duke lacrosse players were exonerated. I do know I barely withstood the thinly disguised celebratory air the newscasts took when reporting this bit of injustice. Burnette hit home with the statement quoted above. His piece, as a whole, had holes one could drive a truck through, however. To quote it again:

"The women were, according to all accounts, called “nigger” and told to penetrate themselves with broomsticks (see Abner Louima). One of these women said that she was raped by three of these inebriated white men. People in power and those without disbelieved her. This is sickening."

I heard that one morning as I was pouring my coffee and sloshed some out of the cup as I gave a quiet cheer. If he only knew the baggage we carry as black women from the injustices and humiliations poured upon us by the likes of him and his ilk, he would realize that what he carries is little more than a carry-on.


Reply to this 4/25/2007 8:15 PM Debra Dickerson wrote:

Brilliant! I told John his comments were all 'his,' but I couldn't help stepping on this one. The comment in toto is dead on, but the last line? I'm tempted to delete the offering, just so I can steal it. You nailed it!

This made my day. Getting a "Brilliant!" from Debra Dickerson...well...that's no small thing. From what I know about her, she doesn't hand those out for a song.

Debra Bites Back

Debra Dickerson...you gotta love her!

I responded to a recent post on Debra Dickerson's blog, The Last Plantation...is the Mind I responded only to the part of the post you see here, not at all being inclusive or considering her comments in their entirety. But she did respond to my comments. If you have been reading my blog, you know that I am a HUGE Debra Dickerson fan. She actually posts and responds personally on her blog. So here is our little dialogue:

Debra Dickerson wrote (partial post):
"It seems obvious to me that the point of life is a) enjoying ourselves and b) learning how to do so without being utter bastards. Given how slowly and rarely most of us learn from our mistakes, only massive do-overs can get through to us. I don't need for this to be true. You'll never catch me harassing people in the park with my flyers, my sermons and my sanctimony. It just makes sense to me -- it actually makes me happy to believe it -- and it guides my actions. Its rationality applied to the unexplainable, its controlling the only thing I can: me."

This was my off-the-cuff response:

Yvonne Thompson wrote:
Glad to see you back, Debra. I've been waiting to hear from you, again. As usual you rev me up and then drop me down with a resounding thud. "The point of life is to enjoy ourselves"? Even a Buddha-Baptist has to know better. Or just remove the Budda and the Baptist from your pseudo faith and just call yourself what that thought indicates, a hedonist. I love you, Debra, you're beautiful. But that statement alone negated everything else in your post...for me. But keep 'em coming, Baby. I'll be waiting.

Reply to this 4/19/2007 8:36 AM Debra Dickerson wrote:

That 'Buddho-Baptist', if you please.

"Enjoying ourselves" includes both idling in the sun and working in soup kitchens or washing the poor's feet. And, anyway, what's wrong with hedonism that isn't irresponsile or at someone else's expense?

Look at what I do for a living -- I don't write soft core porn (ok, I don't publish it) or rake in half a mil on Wall Street every year, both of which I could do. I've turned down most every status-seeking job in journalism and instead squeak by on a pittance to blog for free. So to dismiss me as a hedonist speaks to the arrogance of orthodox religion I mentioned in the post. Your god doesn't want us to be happy?

Nah, I don't think that negates the post and you'll have to work a lot harder to defend your case. I look forward to it.

But I love you too, girlfriend. Keep coming back.

Reply to this 4/19/2007 8:41 AM Debra Dickerson wrote:
And another thing, as for my 'pseudo faith', Yvonne: I'll lay my moral framework up against yours anyday. I don't need a book to tell me what's right and what's wrong (tho I'll take guidance where I can get it). One of the things that fry me the most is the anti-intellectal arrogance that assumes atheists and agnostics think they can do as they please. Remember, you're responding to a lenghty piece of self-criticism (i.e. soul searching). I could just blame my problems on others (and You know who You are) but instead, I'm trying to accept responsibility for my own role in it.

OK. Done now.

God Speaks to Us in Ways We Will Hear

God is everywhere. You cannot get away, no matter how hard you try. You might relate to God as Allah, or Yahweh, or as The Universe, or as Buddha, or whatever. But everybody got a God. Mine is in my intellectual pursuits. I read everything. Everytime, I ask to speak to and hear from God, I get an answer. Today, I pleaded to hear my God speak. No, I didn't go to church. God cannot be contained within the walls of any structure. If you look, you will find God in your own heart and soul, on your front porch, at your desk at the office, in the eyes of your beloved pet, and even in your bathroom. Ask, listen. You will hear. Today God spoke to me in a book I have been meaning to read, and finally picked up today after feeling frustrated that I could not get the rest and peace I sought after a busy week. The book is called, "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert.

Another anguished day comes to mind. As I sat at my desk in my office, wrestling inwardly with the issue of that day, my boss walked over and gave me the Fall 2006 issue of "Conversations: A Forum for Authentic Transformation". The feature article was Contemplative Prayer: More Essential Than Esoteric. Contemplative prayer is actually Christian meditation.

This was my first introduction to Conversations. My initial reaction is that this journal is for Christians more inclined toward an individual, highly personal relationship with God. That's me. The target audience, as described by the publishers is "broad—all thoughtful [emphasis, mine], seeking followers of Christ who long for a complete transformation of soul and full restoration of His image within". Never being one that functions well with group think and approaches, it resonated with me.

This journal led me to the book of Matthew in the New Testament that day. I found validation and love in the words of the Son that day. There is so much good in the Bible, but where we err is in the tendency to interpret the Word too literally or out of context, bending it to our particular purposes and not always for the good.

One morning I woke troubled after a restless night. I got up and dressed warmly as it was only 33 degrees F. outside. As I was jogging on my usual 4-mile route, God grabbed me by the heart and squeezed. The joy often attributed to endorphins seized me and took me through the day. Sometimes it is just that, endorphins. But not that day, it was God.

So, you see, God speaks to all, always in ways in which he knows we will hear.

How will you find God today?

A Brand New Knife

Anyone wanting to know what my life has been like for the last 6-8 months only need listen to what I think of as Melissa Etheridge's signature CD, "Skin". Funny, when that CD was first released in 2001, it resonated with me even then because of the passion and level of truth in the lyrics. But, hey, I didn't think it had much to do with me. Well, now it has everything to do with me. Going through the end of a 15-year relationship takes its tole.

If you are at all familiar with the CD, you know the 1st song is about the beginning of her breakup and each song progresses through the healing process, with all its exhilirations, setbacks, and finally, its triumphs. This CD is a masterpiece! Anyway, right now I am at the place in my recovery that is noted in the song, "Goodnight". Especially this verse:

"I washed the dishes poured out the old wine
Called a new friend for the second time
It's not bad this brand new life
It's clean and it's sharp like a brand new knife " [emphasis, mine]

My sister, Beverly, and I had a great week. She was here at my place for the week, celebrating her 60th birthday. We really had some incredible talks and wonderful bonding. There was lunch at The Old Town Spaghetti Store, dinner at Redbones , watching movies, eating birthday cake, visiting old friends, and just being together quietly. I loved it! She is my best friend. I am making an extra effort to do this with all my family members. You never know. . .


It is likely that I will be spending more time in Dallas, with family, and....well, let's just say my interests in Dallas have expanded greatly. I just recently noticed that the sun shines brighter there. Every time I think of Dallas now, I find myself humming "Amazing Grace, how sweet, the sound...."

Now is the Time...Get Moving!

Over the last couple of years, through stops and starts and ups and downs, I created a comfortable little niche for myself here in Jackson, TN. Just as I was settling into it and calling it my own, I turned around and realized that my niche did not exist. It was an illusion. Having realized that, I know that it is now time to move on.

Some people are meant to climb obstacles, build bridges, and make changes. Others are able to just make their beds and lie comfortably (or not so comfortably) in them. I seem to belong to the former group. Every time I find a nice bed to lie in, I turn over and find that it wasn't really there at all, just an illusion. Well, it has happened again. So I have to move on.

I could not sleep last night. I turned fitfully for a couple of hours, read Debra J. Dickerson's "An American Story" for another, and finally listened to my heart and picked up my Bible. I was led straight to the book of Matthew. After several chapters, a sense of peace and resolution came from deep within my spirit, my thoughts receded, and sleep found me.

Colorblind


Barack Obama would be the great black hope in the next presidential race -- if he were actually black.





by Debra J. Dickerson

Jan. 22, 2007 | I am confident that I have held out longer than any other pundit to weigh in on both the phenomenon that is Barack Obama and the question of whether race will trump gender as America looks toward election 2008.

I had irritably avoided columnizing on these crucial topics (though I have been quoted by others) for several, somewhat unorthodox, reasons. First, because the Clinton-Obama stand-off has been more than well-covered -- and in an overly simplistic, insubstantial, annoyingly celebritized way. (Horrors, Obama smokes! But isn't he hot in his swim trunks?) I was waiting for the discussion to get serious and, at last, it has. Finally, we're asking the tough questions; instead of just crowing that he's raised $20 million, we're starting to wonder where it came from and what will be asked for in return for that much sugar. Why is the supposedly eco-friendly New Age senator supporting coal, however liquefied, as a way to wean ourselves off foreign oil? Wouldn't be his home state's powerful coal lobby, would it? And then there's his support for ethanol, which, strangely enough, comes mainly from corn-rich Iowa -- site of the first presidential caucus, if I'm not mistaken. All much more important than why he doesn't wear a tie.

I had also held off from writing about Obama because the tsunami of attention and adulation this son of a Kenyan goat herder has had to navigate is just too much, too soon. One would think learning to be a senator might keep a person occupied for a while. My hopes for Obama are as high as anyone else's, but what person so young in public life could survive being shot from the planet's biggest cannon at this velocity? And what, exactly, qualifies him to be the most powerful man in the world? Hopefully, he will mature into a truly viable leader, but I'm of the camp that says he isn't quite soup yet. Joining me in that camp are black elected officials and powerful ministers and others closely allied (i.e., receiving Democratic money and position through years of loyalty and activism); sexy Obama might be, but officials like majority whip Jim Clyburn and others who came up through the Democratic ranks won't quickly allow an upstart to upset the apple cart of allegiances won, favors traded and known quantities like Hillary Clinton and John Edwards.

It's good, it's great, that Obama toiled in the state and local vineyards of Illinois before winning a U.S. Senate seat. God spare us another narcissist millionaire buying his way into office from nowhere but his offshore accounts. Not only did Obama learn that his calling was true, but he also learned the tedious minutiae of governing, legislating and wending one's way through the thicket of interest-group politics on a small but crucial scale. These are important dues that any good politician should pay. Now, he's ready to apply those lessons learned to the massive scale of national politics, but we're not giving him the time to do that.

I cringed as the entreaties for him to run for the presidency became impossible to ignore; intoxicating as it must be to see that office offered on a silver platter, what are four or eight years to a newbie 45-year-old? A lifetime, seemingly. But in reality, they're all that might save him from being crushed under the wheels of a brakeless bus abandoned by the clamoring throngs once the newness of respecting a black guy wears off.

In part, this is why those in the civil rights machine are putting the brakes on Obama-mania and feigning objectivity when it comes to his candidacy. Surely they're worried that the early jabs being aimed at superstar Obama (his admitted past drug use, the quibbles about the possible Frey-ing of his autobiography, his dastardly smoking, and the importance of his Muslim background) might grow in significance; race schmace, no way they're willing to go down with the brother if skeletons pop out of the closet. And either way, they win; they can force themselves on him as mentors/gatekeepers or stand aside while he goes down in ignominy, tut-tutting speeches at the ready for a man they knew better than to embrace simply because of his race.

Without a doubt, though, the Reverends Jackson and Sharpton's main reason for giving him the faux high hat is a determination to potty-train the upstart, flex their own muscles, and ensure that there will remain a place for them at the power broker's table. Perhaps most important, they're no doubt waiting for his reverse Sister Souljah moment. Just as the Negro-friendly Bill Clinton had to gamble on retaining that base while reassuring whites that he knew how to keep blacks in line, so Obama has to reassure blacks he is unafraid to tell whites things that whites decidedly do not want to hear. Never having been "black for a living" with protest politics or any form of racial oppositionality, he'll need to assure the black powers that be that he won't dis the politics of blackness (and, hence, them), however much he might keep it on mute. He didn't attain power through traditional black channels (not a minister, no time at the NAACP) so, technically, he owes the civil rights lobby nothing, but they need him in their debt. Homie has some rings to kiss and a kente-cloth pocket square to buy. Still, the overtures he needs to make are purely symbolic; he's irresistible, and the black bourgeoisie won't be able to keep their hands off him. For all his bluster, even Jackson recently admitted to CNN that "all of my heart leans toward Barack." The black embrace is Obama's to lose.

Also, and more subtly, when the handsome Obama doesn't look eastern (versus western) African, he looks like his white mother; not so subliminally, that's partially why whites can embrace him but blacks fear that one day he'll go Tiger Woods on us and get all race transcendent (he might well have never been in the running without a traditionally black spouse and kids). Notwithstanding their silence on the subject, blacks at the top are aware (and possibly troubled?) by Obama's lottery winnings: "black" but not black. Not descended from West African slaves brought to America, he steps into the benefits of black progress (like Harvard Law School) without having borne any of the burden, and he gives the white folks plausible deniability of their unwillingness to embrace blacks in public life. None of Obama's doing, of course, but nonetheless a niggling sort of freebie for which he'll have to do some groveling.

Which brings me to the main reason I delayed writing about Obama. For me, it was a trick question in a game I refused to play. Since the issue was always framed as a battle between gender and race (read: non-whiteness -- the question is moot when all the players are white), I didn't have the heart (or the stomach) to point out the obvious: Obama isn't black.

"Black," in our political and social reality, means those descended from West African slaves. Voluntary immigrants of African descent (even those descended from West Indian slaves) are just that, voluntary immigrants of African descent with markedly different outlooks on the role of race in their lives and in politics. At a minimum, it can't be assumed that a Nigerian cabdriver and a third-generation Harlemite have more in common than the fact a cop won't bother to make the distinction. They're both "black" as a matter of skin color and DNA, but only the Harlemite, for better or worse, is politically and culturally black, as we use the term.

We know a great deal about black people. We know next to nothing about immigrants of African descent (woe be unto blacks when the latter groups find their voice and start saying all kinds of things we don't want said). That rank-and-file black voters might not bother to make this distinction as long as Obama acts black and does us proud makes them no less complicit in this shell game we're playing because everybody wins. (For all the hoopla over Obama, though, most blacks still support Sen. Clinton, with her long relationships in the community and the spillover from President Clinton's wide popularity.)

Whites, on the other hand, are engaged in a paroxysm of self-congratulation; he's the equivalent of Stephen Colbert's "black friend." Swooning over nice, safe Obama means you aren't a racist. I honestly can't look without feeling pity, and indeed mercy, at whites' need for absolution. For all our sakes, it seemed (again) best not to point out the obvious: You're not embracing a black man, a descendant of slaves. You're replacing the black man with an immigrant of recent African descent of whom you can approve without feeling either guilty or frightened. If he were Ronald Washington from Detroit, even with the same résumé, he wouldn't be getting this kind of love. Washington would have to earn it, not just show promise of it, and even then whites would remain wary.

I'll go so far as to say that a white woman will be the Democratic nominee for president before a black descendant of American slaves. Even if Obama invokes slavery and Jim Crow, he does so as one who stands outside, one who emotes but still merely informs. One who can be respectfully tolerated because there's a limit to how far he can go in invoking history. He signals to whites that the racial turmoil and stalemate of the last generation are past and that with him comes a new day in politics when whites needn't hold back for fear of being thought racist.

To say that Obama isn't black is merely to say that, by virtue of his white American mom and his Kenyan dad who abandoned both him and America, he is an American of African immigrant extraction. It is also to point out the continuing significance of the slave experience to the white American psyche; it's not we who can't get over it. It's you. Lumping us all together (which blacks also do from sloppiness and ignorance, and as a way to dominate the race issue and to force immigrants of African descent to subordinate their preferences to ours) erases the significance of slavery and continuing racism while giving the appearance of progress. Though actually, it is a kind of progress. And that's why I break my silence: Obama, with his non-black ass, is doing us all a favor.

Since he had no part in our racial history, he is free of it. And once he's opened the door to even an awkward embrace of candidates of color for the highest offices, the door will stay open. A side door, but an open door. Yet until Obama survives the scourging he's about to receive from Hillary Clinton (God help him if he really did lie about his Muslim background) and the electoral process, no candidate of color will ever be taken seriously. Clinton isn't about to leave the stage in the name of racial progress, and the pundit class has only just begun to take apart the senator's record, associates and bank accounts. Still, this is progress. A non-black on the down low about his non-blackness is about to get what blacks have always asked for: to be judged on his merits. So let's all just pretend that we've really overcome.

Busiest Weekend in AWhile

I had a very busy, very pleasant weekend. It is interesting how long it takes to get involved in activities here that I do not create myself. But this is a small community and no matter how much I feel at home, I'm still a newbie to them.

Saturday, I was invited to Ann Mattison's 75th birthday party. Ann is my late godmother's daughter. She has been ill, but her kids threw this wonderful celebration for her at the Old Country Store.

I saw Ms. Helen Bledsoe there, my 4th grade teacher. She is still thin and was elegantly and impeccable dressed as she always was then. She really looked great. Ms. Anita (Ballard) Spicer also spoke to me and mentioned that she remembered Lillie well. She taught 6th grade at Lincoln Elementary when I was there, though I was never in her class. Ms. Spicer was also a thin, fashionably dressed woman, but of a different type than Ms. Bledsoe.

Charles Mattison, Jr. (Eric) was there from Connecticut by way of New York. He is a very personable young man and very interesting to talk to. Ansanette, the youngest sister, planned the whole thing, I think, being the closest sibling, geographically, to Ann. Sarita, the eldest and closest to me in age was there, also, as well as all the grands (except for Eric's kids).

I went straight from there to see Jerica, my late brother Russell's stepgranddaughter compete in the Miss Bronze pageant. Miss Bronze is a Jackson rite of passage for many attractive, accomplished young black women in town. Of course, not much has changed in that it is usually won by the contestant whose parents are the most well off financially or the girl who has the most Caucausoid hair and features or both. That much has not changed.

Jerica was selected 3rd runner up. She sang a beautiful song called, "Open My Heart". She deserved at least 1st runner up based on her superior style, presence, beauty, and talent. Only one young woman preceded her in that category, and she was selected 1st runner up. She performed an original monlogue, "Growing Up Young Gifted & Black". Excellent! The winner was (Surprise!) a very light skinned young woman with long straight hair and too much make-up. I don't even rember what talent she performed.

The weekend wound up with a Frankie Beverly & Maze concert. My young co-worker, Tracie, invited me to accompany her, her mother, Teresa and 2 of my old classmates, Marlene Douglass and Glenda Sheffield. Of course, Glenda has a married name now, but I don't remember what it is. Another classmate, Eugene Nichols was also there, and he spent a lot of time with us. He mentioned that his sister, Barbara Nichols was in town from FL and had been here for about a month.

In addition, I received calls from several women I know, both new friends and old. Brenda made a concilliatory effort after our having not communicated for several months. She sent a thoughtful card. I have not replied yet, as I am not sure yet just what to say. I got a call from a very sexy, but weird woman I met who lives in NJ. She is a lot of fun, though, and keeps me laughing.

Gretta called and emailed this week just to keep in touch and send me her new address. We chatted. Things seem to be well with her. I am making plans to meet a wonderful woman I met, Grace, from Dallas when I go there over the Easter weekend. We are getting together for lunch, and she will show me around town if things go well.

All in all, things are looking up. We shall see. But I am very grateful for the blessings I have been given and for those I am able to give to others.

In Honor of My Sister, Lillie (1/4/07)

I lost my history on this date. My sister, Lillie, was my link to our family history. Since I relocated back to Jackson, TN in December 2004, she was the one I always called when I ran into someone I couldn't remember or something came up that I couldn't quite place.

Lillie was only 4 years older than me, but she lived two lives to my one. Everything she did, she did to the fullest. She took every act and every feeling to its deepest level. Lillie believed that everything that was worth doing should be done all the way. You could not be around her if you were not ready to be taken to the limit. She could be exhausting, but she was never boring.

I miss her. . . .

My Sister, Lillie

Lillie was my link
She made me know my past
And to think of things
As they really are.
Even when I wanted to believe
They were not that way,
But something else that would
Be better.
Lillie kept me here on this earth

Where I miss her...so much.

Planning Renovation (12/6/04)

I am bunking in Marilyn's grandchildren's bedroom. I left the hotel and decided not to move into the house, as we discovered the cleaning was not sufficient and there is not a room in the house that does not need work. The advice I got from someone who recently renovated was, DO NOT live there while it is going on, if you do not have to.

I expect to get a quote by EOB Tues., 12/7. If I approve, they plan to get started right away. I hope to have it ready to move into when I return from Texas after Christmas or mid-January at the latest. Keep your fingers crossed.

Marilyn and I poured through Lowe's on Saturday and picked out paint colors, stove, dishwasher, lighting fixtures, counter tops, bathroom fixtures, etc. It was fun!

I was at the house yesterday (Sunday) and a couple just came over and wanted to look around. They were oohhing and ahhing over the possibilities.

That's the thing, the house is a little run down, OK raggedy and dirty :)), on the inside but has such character and possibilities. They were also rambling around looking to see if there was anything I didn't want that they could have for their charity garage sale.

Selecting a Contractor (12/13/04)

OK, I am going totally, full out Yvonne, business person.

I have tried the nicey, nice Southern way. It is not working.

The contractor I have been working with has gotten me nothing so far. He called this morning and referred me to someone who promised to call me back and schedule a meeting at the house between 12-1 p.m. I have not heard from him either as of nearly 2:30 p.m.

So, I have put out bid requests. I will work with the 1st person who provides me the business-like response I need, gives me a good quote, a sound contract, has appropriate licensing and insurance, and can complete what I want them to do in 3-4 weeks. I need to start work myself. I have no income (except my one client) and I cannot pay storage for more than a month.

The work will not get started until after the holidays now. But it is all inside, so weather should not be a factor. Actually, that is OK. I realize now that I need to take my time to review several offers and make a good selection.

I also have to move out of Marilyn's when I return from Texas. She has been wonderful, her friend is a nice guy and I feel totally welcome. In fact we have fun. However, they both smoke. I went for a long walk this morning, and I was coughing up gunk. I just came from CA where no one smokes anywhere. I cannot take it. However, I refuse to say a word to either of them about it. They have both been so nice, and it is their home. I would love to just stay there and give Marilyn the rent rather than to someone else. But I have no choice because of my health. OK, enough venting on that.

I went and sat with Ann Mattison for a couple of hours on Saturday. She is so funny. She caught me up on all that is happening with her family, Cumberland Church (formerly Cumberland St. Church), and everything. She seems to be doing well, and expects Sarita to come home for Christmas.

Opening a Bank Account in Jackson (12/9/04)

I thought I would open a local bank account. But the 1st time I went in
I did not have all the IDs and stuff I needed on me, so I told them I would come back. Well, I went back today with CA drivers license, US Passport, Social Security card, several existing credit cards, a copy of the homeowners' insurance bill and a health insurance (both mailed to me at 304 Morningside) AND the deed to the house with both my name and property address on it. Well, the little sister who was waiting on me had to go get the white woman because I DID NOT HAVE A UTILITY BILL OR A PHONE BILL. She said "because people come in all the time saying they live somewhere that they don't". I was only trying to put money IN the bank, not take anything out. So when the white woman came out and said we'll go ahead and open it for you, but....blah, blah,....So I just stood up, gathered my stuff and said nicely. "No, that's OK, I don't want you have to go against your policy, that wouldn't be right.". But here's the kicker, I walked over to the window and gave this woman an ATM card, get this--from a bank account based in New York with about 2 branches in L.A. I asked for cash, she filled out a debit card form, I signed it, and walked out with cash. So, it was easier to take money OUT of this bank, than it is to put money IN. That's it. I will not have a local bank account. Don't need it.

Working at Lambuth University

This is what I see if I look out the window where I am now. I am working at Lambuth University as University Relations Assistant. I assist the Director of University Relations and the Director of Alumni Relations in graphic design of all publications for the university, including a biannual magazine, a bimonthly newsletter, an online newsletter and blog, daily press releases, and general photography.

Where was I before then?