The Gentleman, the Scholar and the Thug: Can you tell the difference?

by Irene Daniel

Okay, so a Congressman, a professional football player and the President of the United States walk into a bar. And the sign said, "No Thugs Served." Who would be served in this bar?

So it's not the funniest joke you've ever heard. In fact, it's not really funny at all, is it? But I wonder what we really mean when we use the word "thug." Richard Sherman, defensive corner-back for the Seattle Seahawks, said last week that "thug" is the new "n-word." He offered this insight after being called a thug for his post-game, testosterone-laden winner's rant just moments after making the play of the game, qualifying his team for a Super Bowl match-up with the Denver Broncos.

I don't think Sherman's retractors, or the media, were ready for the non-testosterone laden Sherman, who earned a Bachelor's Degree in Communications from Stanford University, and is currently pursuing a Master's Degree. This Richard Sherman presented himself at the press conference to be the gentleman and scholar that he is, as he explained his comments and used the example of hockey players abandoning their puck to punch each other in the face. Nobody called them thugs. And yet Sherman, who did not threaten anyone with violence, used no offensive language (unless, of course, you're a wide receiver named Crabtree), but proclaimed himself the champion that he certainly was in that moment with great enthusiasm, was called a thug hundreds of times for his post-game conduct.

President Obama has also endured and endured and endured being called a thug, and described in condescending, insulting and just plain racist terms for the better part of a decade now. And yet, as in his State of the Union Address on Tuesday night, he has never responded in like terms, nor has he taken the haters to task, as many of his supporters wish that he would. He has always taken the high road, refusing to get baited into an ugly back-and-forth that belongs more in the 18th century than it does the 21st. I marvel at his patience and emotional control.

Most successful African-American men will tell you that, at some point in their upbringing, they were told that they must not call attention to themselves in any way that could be construed as violent, criminal or suspect. They are taught, as young boys, not to shout, run, make gestures or faces, or do anything that might be construed as aggressive. The reason that they are taught these things is so that they will not get themselves into trouble by causing alarm in white people, for white people are still mostly in control of who gets jobs and who goes to jail. I think this training is evident in the President's behavior, as well as that of most African-American men I know. African-American men, as well as Latinos, have learned this lesson well. If you don't believe me, ask a successful dark-skinned male about their experiences and, if they are honest with you, they will tell you all about this unwritten, but well-known, rule of their world.

So, what is a thug? My old Webster's defines it as "a brutal hoodlum; gangster, etc." I've also heard it defined as "a violent person, especially a criminal." I've never known President Obama to do or say anything "brutal" or "violent" or "criminal." Richard Sherman's comments could not accurately be described as any of those things. So why are they called thugs?

Let's contrast their conduct and words with, say Congressman Michael Grimm, who threatened the very life of a NY1 reporter by throwing him "over this f*#$king balcony," referring to the 3rd floor balcony of the U.S. Capitol Building. Additionally, the Congressman got right into the face of Reporter Michael Scotto and further threatened to tear him in half, "like a boy." These threats sound both brutal and violent to me. Moreover, getting in someone's face like that and threatening bodily injury is in fact a crime called assault. Physical contact is not necessary for an assault; only that the victim be placed in a position of force or fear.

Several months ago, there was a riot in Huntington Beach. You may not have heard about it because the rioters were young white men. They looted and destroyed property in Huntington Beach, obvious criminal behavior. Where was the national outcry denouncing this white male conduct as thuggery? If the double-standard wasn't already obvious to you, perhaps these simple comparisons can serve to enlighten.

I have long believed that, at some point in history, white privilege will no longer serve as an advantage, but may very well become something of a disadvantage for white males. We are getting closer to that tipping point every day. This disadvantage will not stem from the long-held resentments of women and people of color; although who could blame us? No. This disadvantage to the long-privileged white male will stem from a society which has, for hundreds of years, expected little from him in terms of actual merit. The deck has been stacked in his favor for centuries and generations and, as Robert Frost wrote, ". . . way leads onto way."

Women and people of color have had to learn the "end-run" around privileged white males in order to succeed in a world created by and for the success of white men for generations. The time is upon us when this is no longer necessary because we don't need to please only white men in order to get what we want. We have our own kind in places of power now -- government, board rooms, business owners. Accordingly, we don't need to tap dance anymore.

What this also means is that, while it's not level yet, the playing field is no longer designed exclusively by and for white males. That means that competition is much more fierce and outcomes less guaranteed for pale males. And since white males have not had to compete outside of their own comfort zones, they are woefully unaccustomed thereto. Having been given a pass for so long, they are not able to keep up with those of us who have made the Dean's List while holding down a full-time job and caring for small children and/or elderly relatives.

I don't hate white men, so please save your energy for something other than name-calling. I have observed their competency and/or ignorance up close for 40 years, and I am constantly astonished at how very little white males know about anything that doesn't directly concern or interest them, like Civil Rights, for example. And yet, their mediocrity can land them in the White House, George W. Bush, a case in point. A dark-skinned half-white man, like President Obama, has to be nearly perfect in all respects, and yet he gets called a thug.

Every time we see an example such as those that I have shared here, the long-term consequences of white male privilege become more visible to those who haven't had to think about it; and more and more painfully obvious to those of us who have had to navigate the dark side of white privilege for generations.

So, do you know how to tell the difference between a gentleman, a scholar and a thug?

The id Post: How We Decide: A Personal Story of Choice

The id Post: How We Decide: A Personal Story of Choice: by Irene Daniel About 34 years ago, I made the most profound and challenging decision of my entire life. I was pregnant, unmarried, emo...

How We Decide: A Personal Story of Choice

by Irene Daniel

About 34 years ago, I made the most profound and challenging decision of my entire life. I was pregnant, unmarried, emotionally immature and unprepared, Catholic and confused.  I was enrolled in a local community college, but had not yet earned my college and law degrees. Even though I was on the pill and in a committed relationship with my baby’s father (who I’ll call Bob), our love was still fresh and new, and relatively untested. I wasn’t sure if I could rely upon Bob to be there for me or our child.

I was very lucky in that Bob and I discussed this matter very openly and honestly. He wanted the baby, and said he would be there as a father, regardless of the long-term status of our union. What he said next I realize now is one of the greatest examples of respect that I’ve ever experienced. He told me that, even though he wanted this baby, he would defer to me to make the final decision because it was I who had to carry and deliver the child, as well as assume a lifetime of responsibilities, limitations and physical and emotional changes that he did not have to experience. I will always respect and love this man as a true friend for being so far ahead of his time, and for honoring me with such human decency and respect.

After much talking, crying, praying and contemplation, I made my choice. I called Planned Parenthood and made an appointment to terminate my unplanned pregnancy. Even though I felt emotionally and morally conflicted at times, I was not certain that I could provide my child with all the things that I didn’t get, and that contributed to the family dysfunction that I had lived in all of my life. I did not want to share generations of dysfunction with this new being, and didn’t think I had anything else to offer to a child. I didn’t want my baby to have the kind of childhood that I had had, and since I did not know at the time how to see past it, I thought the most responsible thing to do was to save this child from the abandonment and abuse that I had suffered, and that seemed to me, almost inevitable. This is why I was on the pill at the time, a fact that I felt justified the therapeutic abortion.

In talking to the people at Planned Parenthood, I never experienced any kind of pressure to choose one way or another. There was only a profound professionalism and compassionate tone that made me feel safe and unashamed. This was a very empowering experience for me.

When the day came, however, I found that this was really not the right choice for me, in this particular circumstance; and not out of guilt or shame, but rather because of what I had learned in the process of examining all my choices. I had to have enough emotional courage to admit that I was not alone. I knew I would need help, and this would invite emotional intimacy with others, especially my baby; and that maybe it was time to open my heart, which especially at that time, was very closed and cold.

Moreover, I realized that, since Bob had confessed his unwillingness to impose something so permanent upon me, perhaps I should consider his wishes more carefully, and give them more weight than my insecurities and dysfunctional history. By going through this very personal, emotional, and life-changing process, I learned a lot about myself, and especially about my partner. In so doing, I came to realize that my fears for this child needn’t become reality; and that we could create a new reality for our new family.

When I picked up the phone to cancel my appointment, my voice was breaking and I almost burst into tears. I was barely able to say the words, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep my appointment today,” as I spoke through muffled sobs. I will never forget the response I received from the woman on the other end of the line. I could actually hear the compassionate and knowing smile in her voice. Yes, she understood and wished me and my baby well, from everyone at Planned Parenthood. She also reminded me that they would always be available for any present and future needs I may have, and invited me to call anytime I needed them.

Fortunately for me, I have never again needed or used the services of Planned Parenthood. I have no idea who the women were who talked to me on the phone, but I do know that they made a lasting impression on me, and the memory of their professionalism and compassion sustains me still.

I share this story because I think it is important for women who have had abortions, or even thought about having one, to honor ourselves and one another by releasing us all from any sense of shame for exercising our legal choices, regardless of whatever choice is made. I think it is also important for Americans to understand that being pro-choice is not about promoting sex with no consequences. Many women have conceived while using some method of birth control. Other than abstinence, no method is fool-proof.

But even if a pregnancy is the result of carelessness, the consequences are visited most profoundly, directly, immediately and eternally upon the woman, for an act of both partners. Accordingly, it should forever be her right to choose what is appropriate for her own physical person. Our bodies are the first and most sacred of all that we will ever own. I share this story as an example of one fortunate woman who, at a very confusing time in her life, was surrounded by people, especially her mate, who never questioned this very basic fact of life.

I am glad I changed my mind. But you see, it was my choice, my decision to take all the emotional risks necessary to become a mother. And those in my life who loved me, supported me in my leap of faith. It was through the process of decision-making that I discovered who I really was in that moment; for all decision-making is a process. And when we deny these choices, these intimate decisions that are rightfully our own to anyone, then we deny them this very important and infinitely personal journey of self-discovery. This denial is the most un-American thing we can do. It is unbelievable to me that these sacred choices are now the topic of political fodder once again! How did we get here? This is something I thought that we could all take for granted by the time I became a grandmother. And yet, here we are again.

I was blessed to deliver a healthy, beautiful son, who is still the first delight of my life. I have shared this story with him for several reasons. First, I would not want him to hear this story from anyone else because it is not a secret and I am not ashamed of exercising my legal right to choose. I don’t want him to be afraid or ashamed of any part of his life, or how it came to be. He knows he wasn’t planned, but he was not an accident either. He was wanted and welcomed and loved every day of his life.

But the most important reason I tell my son this story, is to honor his father and his courageous, yet empowering surrender. I want him to be proud of his father, who has always wanted him, and assumed most of the responsibilities of raising him as I pursued my education. I want him to know of this personal example in his own life, of how to respect and honor women.

I asked permission from my son and his father before posting this story. It is their story and their privacy too. Even though Bob and I are long since parted, I am glad for all that he brought to my life, most especially our son, our beautiful baby, who we chose to bring into this world together. For all of our ups and downs and learning curves, we will always be family. And that is a very good thing.

I chose to have a family. I chose to open my heart. I chose to take this risk and take on the responsibility of parenthood. I am not a perfect parent. Who is? But, parenthood was something I chose, not something imposed upon me by fate, or by a society still largely governed by men. Men who, unlike Bob, cannot see past themselves enough to respect the women of this country to make the choices they see fit regarding the most personal and profound aspects of our lives.

I will always support Planned Parenthood because I will always be grateful to this organization for being supportive and compassionate at a time when I needed it most. And I will always be grateful that I was afforded a legal choice that was respected by those close to me, as well as my community. I want my granddaughters to have this same choice. I hope they don’t have to fight for it still, when they become grandmothers.

The id Post: Back to the Real World: A New Cycle Begins

The id Post: Back to the Real World: A New Cycle Begins: by Irene Daniel I'm back. I've been sick lately. The entire Christmas holiday fortnight was spent coughing and hacking, sneezing, ...

Back to the Real World: A New Cycle Begins

by Irene Daniel

I'm back. I've been sick lately. The entire Christmas holiday fortnight was spent coughing and hacking, sneezing, sweating, freezing, going through boxes and boxes of Kleenex and, well, you get the picture. Perhaps you suffered a similar fate. I heard there was something awful going around.

It was difficult to articulate a complete sentence, much less a blog post. I mean, this thing really took me out completely. As I was disabled from serious writing or serious anything, for that matter, I read a lot and watched, probably, too much TV. At least some of the time I was watching historical documentaries and docudramas, being the historian that I am. And I learned a lot of things I didn't know before.

The History Channel was running a series on the history of mankind, making a valiant effort to connect the dots between historic events and eras. Parts of it were pretty good, but when it got to the part about the New World, it was pretty much a rehash of white revisionist history; glorifying Christopher Columbus and praising European conquest, while treating the exploitation of the indigenous as something of an unfortunate footnote. They finally got around to Civil Rights in the last 16 minutes (4 of which were commercials) of a 6 hour series. A speed-bump in the history of the white historian, it seems.

In its blind worship of  the innovations of the industrial age, it almost completely ignored the abuses and exploitation of immigrants and nonwhites in order to build cities, railroads, mines and factories. It did mention the plight of the Irish immigrant working on the railroads, risking life and limb for less than $1 per day. What about the slaves? What about the other immigrants -- Chinese, Mexican, Italian? What about the exploitation of the Native populations already established on this continent? They did mention that one life was lost per every one mile of track, as well as how unfortunate it was that the indigenous populations inhabiting the western hemisphere was an inconvenient truth; an impediment to progress. And then they moved on to hail speed and greed. And I wonder: Do they hire writers and researchers who are not white and male? The finished products on the History Channel suggest that they do not. What a shame. What are they waiting for?

What I did learn was that the history of the human race largely involves becoming more efficient at killing each other. While many wars were fought over territory, wealth and sometimes principle, most seemed to have been fought by one group of people violently trying to convince and convert another group of people of the superiority of their own benevolent god. Cheery stuff, huh? No wonder I suffer from off the charts anxiety.

I also found myself watching a lot of shows on the Military Channel, which I think is mostly excellent. I learned much more about Hitler and his extraordinarily odd and revolting sexual habits than I ever wanted to know; although it explains quite a lot about how warped he was. His brutal childhood further explains the origin of his unremitting rage. Their programming on WWI gave an excellent perspective on how his rise to power was created at the signing of the Treaty of Versailles.

I learned about how the brothers Dulles created the idea of "American Exceptionalism," which fed manifest destiny fantasy; as well as the seeds of the military-industrial complex. This, in turn, became the fuel for unprecedented corporate power; which will be our Titanic if we don't do something soon to return power to the people. Or maybe empowering the masses will actually be a first here in our oligarchic America. But only if we are brave enough to seize our moment, our nation, our future.

More than anything, I learned to once again be in awe of the miracle of humanity.  Look at how we keep brutalizing each other, and yet, we come back stronger each time. And, as the Duck Dynasty dust-up kept popping up over the holidays, I wondered about why we make the choices that we do. Why do we choose to see the worst in other people? People who don't look like us, or think like us, or talk like us? Why do we choose to see them as "the other." And especially, why are we so afraid of each other?

I wondered at how people can read the same Bible; and some will see love and some will see "the other." And then I realized that the difference is really whether you read with the eyes of love or whether you read with the eyes of fear. And this is true of all things, I have found; at least for me.

When I see with fear, I create a rationale for separation from what scares me. And when I am brave enough to see with love, I realize that there is no separation -- from God (whatever that means to you), or from one another.

Because I am human, I don't always see with the eyes of love. I'm good, but I'm not that good. However, when I do, I lose my fear. I might be annoyed still, but I'm no longer afraid of "the other." There is no us and them. There is only US.

That's what I learned on my Christmas vacation.