Thursday, March 26, 2015
The id Post: The id Post: The Madness of March and Memories of ...
The id Post: The id Post: The Madness of March and Memories of ...: The id Post: The Madness of March and Memories of John Wooden : by Irene Daniel March Madness is upon us once again. I was never a big spo...
The id Post: The Madness of March and Memories of John Wooden
The id Post: The Madness of March and Memories of John Wooden: by Irene Daniel March Madness is upon us once again. I was never a big sports fan growing up. In fact, my family and I would be disappoint...
The Madness of March and Memories of John Wooden
by Irene Daniel
March Madness is upon us once again. I was never a big sports fan growing up. In fact, my family and I would be disappointed when our favorite TV shows, like Family Affair, The Carol Burnett Show, or MASH were pre-emtped for some sporting event. The Daniel Family hearth did not entertain athletics much at all. Aside from my one season on our high school tennis team, and my brother David's distance running on the track team, we didn't play team sports either.
The woman I am today, however, could not be contained watching my beloved UCLA Bruins beat UAB last week, making it to the 'Sweet 16' in the NCAA's Big Dance! So what changed?
Well that's easy. I had, on more than one occasion, the esteemed honor to meet the late and perennially great, John Wooden. I have a Wooden Award basketball, as well as other memorabilia, personally autographed by him. I was privileged to attend the Wooden Award Ceremony for a couple of years when he was still alive and always showed up to present the award named after him, to the likes of Ed O'Bannon and Marcus Camby. It was an extraordinary thrill to introduce my teenage son to this legend of a man. It was an experience that changed us both, and turned us into life-long Wooden disciples. How could it not?
I met other great coaches too; like Dean Smith, Tubby Smith, Lute Olsen, Coach K and Tark the Shark, to name but a few. I have a vivid memory of Jason Kidd -- pre-Suns, Knicks and coaching -- shooting a game of pool in the Main Bar at the Los Angeles Athletic Club (LAAC) with his dad, Joe Kidd. Just father and son having some beers and shooting some pool. The LAAC was, and still is, the host of The Wooden Award, and I was at that time a member. I joined the Wooden Award Committee mostly because I didn't know anything about it, even though I was an alum of UCLA by then. What an eye-opening experience for my 13 year-old son and me.
We both learned about a lot more than college basketball. We learned that true greatness isn't possible without humility and integrity. John Wooden was one of the most humble and unassuming men I have ever had the privilege to meet. He never sought the limelight, but he didn't try to avoid it either. While the press thronged around the candidates and their coaches, Wooden would sneak away to fix himself a little plate from the grand buffet served in his honor. Mostly fruits and vegetables. Nothing fancy.
And it was in those quiet moments, far from the madding crowd, that I was able to engage him in conversation. Those brilliant blue eyes of his were always sparkling. And even though he was rather short by then, the power of the spirit behind them gave me a sense that he could see right through me.
He didn't talk about himself much. He talked a bit about basketball, but his eyes really lit up when an admirer would start talking about faith. He was a Presbyterian. He was also always gracious when speaking of his wife Nell, who predeceased him; leaving him lonely but not bitter. He lived, not in a mansion, but in a small apartment -- a nice apartment, but small. It was all he needed. He was such a sweet, sweet soul. It was worth all the dirt and noise and traffic one must tolerate in the City of Angels, just to meet John Wooden and have a couple of nice chats with this legendary coach.
John Robert Wooden remains unequaled among college basketball coaches, Coach K (now the most winningest coach in college basketball history) notwithstanding. I doubt that Wooden's record of 10 NCAA Championships in 12 years will ever be matched. Of course, the rules have changed and coaches today generally don't have the opportunity to hang onto their superstars for a period of years, as Wooden did in the 1960s and 70s. That being said, Wooden's true greatness came not from himself, but from what he inspired in others.
And inspire he did, the likes of Lewis Alcindor, Jr.(aka Kareem Abdul Jabbar) and Bill Walton, by using his famous 'Pyramid of Success' to illuminate what they had inside of their hearts and souls. He never, ever swore at them or showed aggression toward them or minimized them, especially in public. He always treated them with dignity and respect because he knew that true greatness is an inside job. Drills and skills are nothing without the motivation to struggle through those last 5 minutes of a game, when your thighs feel like they are on fire and your whole body aches. That's toughness! Maybe that's why John Wooden is the only person I know of, with the possible exception of family members, who ever got away with calling Kareem "Lewis" publicly.
Wooden wrote about this fact in some of the many, many books he wrote; most of which I've read. He explained that he meant no dishonor or disrespect to his former center. In fact, he tried to use the name several times, but it lacked the intimacy he had come to know with this superstar he helped to create. Wooden knew him as Lewis. He had come to love and admire him as Lewis. Knowing first-hand the genius, humility and integrity of John Wooden, Kareem understood.
John Wooden had the uncanny ability to find the light in others. Moreover, he offered a blueprint for excellence in his 'Pyramid of Success.' While skills are at its center, its foundation is based upon honesty and integrity. Again, nothing fancy, just an authenticity that keeps on giving. Thanks Coach. Thanks for influencing my life and that of my, now adult (sometimes) son, Daniel James Boise.
And so, now when I tune into The Big Dance over the next few days I will, undoubtedly, get out of control, especially when the Bruins play the Bulldogs tomorrow. There is a heart and soul to college hoops that just doesn't exist anywhere else. The way they link arms on the bench during clutch free-throws; it's a different vibe altogether.
Perhaps it is that suspended hope and hunger of youth that calls to me. Maybe it's the chasing of a call to excellence that embodies Wooden's 'Pyramid of Success.' Whatever it is, I find myself once again lost and found in the Madness of March.
GO BRUINS!!!
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, All Rights Reserved.
March Madness is upon us once again. I was never a big sports fan growing up. In fact, my family and I would be disappointed when our favorite TV shows, like Family Affair, The Carol Burnett Show, or MASH were pre-emtped for some sporting event. The Daniel Family hearth did not entertain athletics much at all. Aside from my one season on our high school tennis team, and my brother David's distance running on the track team, we didn't play team sports either.
The woman I am today, however, could not be contained watching my beloved UCLA Bruins beat UAB last week, making it to the 'Sweet 16' in the NCAA's Big Dance! So what changed?
Well that's easy. I had, on more than one occasion, the esteemed honor to meet the late and perennially great, John Wooden. I have a Wooden Award basketball, as well as other memorabilia, personally autographed by him. I was privileged to attend the Wooden Award Ceremony for a couple of years when he was still alive and always showed up to present the award named after him, to the likes of Ed O'Bannon and Marcus Camby. It was an extraordinary thrill to introduce my teenage son to this legend of a man. It was an experience that changed us both, and turned us into life-long Wooden disciples. How could it not?
I met other great coaches too; like Dean Smith, Tubby Smith, Lute Olsen, Coach K and Tark the Shark, to name but a few. I have a vivid memory of Jason Kidd -- pre-Suns, Knicks and coaching -- shooting a game of pool in the Main Bar at the Los Angeles Athletic Club (LAAC) with his dad, Joe Kidd. Just father and son having some beers and shooting some pool. The LAAC was, and still is, the host of The Wooden Award, and I was at that time a member. I joined the Wooden Award Committee mostly because I didn't know anything about it, even though I was an alum of UCLA by then. What an eye-opening experience for my 13 year-old son and me.
We both learned about a lot more than college basketball. We learned that true greatness isn't possible without humility and integrity. John Wooden was one of the most humble and unassuming men I have ever had the privilege to meet. He never sought the limelight, but he didn't try to avoid it either. While the press thronged around the candidates and their coaches, Wooden would sneak away to fix himself a little plate from the grand buffet served in his honor. Mostly fruits and vegetables. Nothing fancy.
And it was in those quiet moments, far from the madding crowd, that I was able to engage him in conversation. Those brilliant blue eyes of his were always sparkling. And even though he was rather short by then, the power of the spirit behind them gave me a sense that he could see right through me.
He didn't talk about himself much. He talked a bit about basketball, but his eyes really lit up when an admirer would start talking about faith. He was a Presbyterian. He was also always gracious when speaking of his wife Nell, who predeceased him; leaving him lonely but not bitter. He lived, not in a mansion, but in a small apartment -- a nice apartment, but small. It was all he needed. He was such a sweet, sweet soul. It was worth all the dirt and noise and traffic one must tolerate in the City of Angels, just to meet John Wooden and have a couple of nice chats with this legendary coach.
John Robert Wooden remains unequaled among college basketball coaches, Coach K (now the most winningest coach in college basketball history) notwithstanding. I doubt that Wooden's record of 10 NCAA Championships in 12 years will ever be matched. Of course, the rules have changed and coaches today generally don't have the opportunity to hang onto their superstars for a period of years, as Wooden did in the 1960s and 70s. That being said, Wooden's true greatness came not from himself, but from what he inspired in others.
And inspire he did, the likes of Lewis Alcindor, Jr.(aka Kareem Abdul Jabbar) and Bill Walton, by using his famous 'Pyramid of Success' to illuminate what they had inside of their hearts and souls. He never, ever swore at them or showed aggression toward them or minimized them, especially in public. He always treated them with dignity and respect because he knew that true greatness is an inside job. Drills and skills are nothing without the motivation to struggle through those last 5 minutes of a game, when your thighs feel like they are on fire and your whole body aches. That's toughness! Maybe that's why John Wooden is the only person I know of, with the possible exception of family members, who ever got away with calling Kareem "Lewis" publicly.
Wooden wrote about this fact in some of the many, many books he wrote; most of which I've read. He explained that he meant no dishonor or disrespect to his former center. In fact, he tried to use the name several times, but it lacked the intimacy he had come to know with this superstar he helped to create. Wooden knew him as Lewis. He had come to love and admire him as Lewis. Knowing first-hand the genius, humility and integrity of John Wooden, Kareem understood.
John Wooden had the uncanny ability to find the light in others. Moreover, he offered a blueprint for excellence in his 'Pyramid of Success.' While skills are at its center, its foundation is based upon honesty and integrity. Again, nothing fancy, just an authenticity that keeps on giving. Thanks Coach. Thanks for influencing my life and that of my, now adult (sometimes) son, Daniel James Boise.
And so, now when I tune into The Big Dance over the next few days I will, undoubtedly, get out of control, especially when the Bruins play the Bulldogs tomorrow. There is a heart and soul to college hoops that just doesn't exist anywhere else. The way they link arms on the bench during clutch free-throws; it's a different vibe altogether.
Perhaps it is that suspended hope and hunger of youth that calls to me. Maybe it's the chasing of a call to excellence that embodies Wooden's 'Pyramid of Success.' Whatever it is, I find myself once again lost and found in the Madness of March.
GO BRUINS!!!
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, All Rights Reserved.
Thursday, March 19, 2015
The id Post: Country Girl, City Girl, Country Girl: Florence, ...
The id Post: Country Girl, City Girl, Country Girl: Florence, ...: by Irene Daniel The tapestry of my life begins and ends in Florence, Arizona. I was born here and I will die here, hopefully in this very h...
Country Girl, City Girl, Country Girl: Florence, AZ -- My Alpha and Omega
by Irene Daniel
The tapestry of my life begins and ends in Florence, Arizona. I was born here and I will die here, hopefully in this very house. Unlike many of my childhood friends, I had to leave it to appeciate it -- to really love it. I am so happy to be home -- my home, the one I've always loved and always missed. Always.
Every living room window I've looked out of over the years, reminded me of the one at which I sit today, my first window to the world. Every holiday, every national or global disaster, as well as every triumph of the human spirit celebrated on television -- our collective window to the world -- brought me back to memories of home; memories of our family gathered around our TV, the family hearth of the 20th century. I know it's the same for my brother, David, the only other surviving member of our family of origin. We have long acknowledged that the hearts and souls of beloved family and friends still live and breath in this patch of earth called home.
As happy as I am to be back, I know that I had to leave when I did. I was once a little girl with big dreams that could not come true in my hometown, for myriad reasons.There were many lessons I needed to learn that could not be learned here. Not all of them were the nice kind to learn. That fact notwithstanding, there were also many wonderful lessons to learn and opportunities to explore in LA. Some of them were magical, some technical and some still shine so brightly as to leave me bedazzled even now.
There are many people, places and things Angelino that I will sorely miss. I will miss being able to have lunch with some of my favorite people, like Robert Garcia. He was my Criminal Law and Evidence Professor at UCLA, and is currently the Executive Director of The City Project, where he has been battling the injustices of environmental exploitation for many years. He has also been heralded as one of the most influential attorneys in the nation, and I am privileged to say, remains a friend and mentor to me. I miss knowing we live in the same city. He is one of the smartest people I have ever known.
But I never could have had the opportunity to meet this brilliant man had it not been for Esther George, my 1st grade teacher, who taught me how to read. And how about Wanda Malmo, my 4th grade teacher, who further instilled that love of reading in all of her students? And how could I have learned how to put a sentence together without Eileen McGeehee, my 7th grade English teacher, who opened up a whole new world for me by having us conjugate sentences on the blackboard?
It is the foundation laid by them and countless others, like Art Celaya, Santos Vega and Mary O'Brien, to name but a few, that enabled the realization of those big dreams I had, once upon a time in Florence. And they've pretty much all come true for me; just about every single one. I had the opportunity to work for the largest prosecutorial agency in the world (the LA County DA's Office); as well as the opportunity to succeed in oral argument in an appellate case that made legal history (Mendoza v. Rast). It was an amazing ride, practicing law in Los Angeles.
In accomplishing these goals, however, I also learned that all that glitters is not gold. LA was loaded with excitement and opportunity for me, and my heart will always be a little bit Angelino. But the City of Angels is also filled with a lot of other things too; things like smog, noise, crime and traffic, traffic, traffic! All the noise and confusion makes it easy to be anonymous. People don't necessarily know their neighbors well. They hire people to walk their dogs, care for their children, clean their houses and prepare their meals because they are too busy trying to make a living in an extremely competiive market whee the cost of living is sky-high! And, did I mention the monster traffic in LA? It gets worse all the time.
While my homecoming has not been without its challenges, my needs for material and emotional support were met by an army of long-time friends. This community that once cradled me surrounded my needs with their resources, lovingly delivered and humbly accepted. As I recover from the trauma and drama that has been my life of late, I feel an enormous sense of gratitude and belonging,
I guess it all comes down to this: I prefer the personal accountability of this small town to the anonymity of the big city. It's easier to disappear in a big city; easier to get away with things, easier to not care. But, even if I wanted to, I can't hide out in this community, and wall myself off from the rest of the world as I am wont to do. There are folks here who have known me for over 50 years and will organize a search party if they don't see or hear from me for awhile. We all look out for one another in this 2-stoplight town. And, by the way, those 2 stoplights are adorned with lines of cars only twice daily, and ever so briefly, when people travel to and from work in jobs that don't rob them of all their time and energy. Time for family and fun is a priority here.
And then there is the natural beauty of the place and the clean air, especially after a desert rainstorm, like we had last night. As I sit here at my window, I marvel at the Palo Verde tree across the street. It is just beginning to show off its first few blooms of spring; tiny and bright yellow flowers. Soon that tree will be exploding with those screaming yellow blossoms, boldly announcing a new season of life.
I had a beautiful, fenced-in backyard in Los Angeles. I have a fenced-in yard here too, but my real backyard is the beautiful Sonora desert all around me, where I take my dog Maggie for long walks. We love to watch the sky change colors at sunrise and sunset. There really is no place like home.
I know that this is where I belong -- in Florence, AZ, my hometown -- my alpha and omega.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, All rights reserved.
The tapestry of my life begins and ends in Florence, Arizona. I was born here and I will die here, hopefully in this very house. Unlike many of my childhood friends, I had to leave it to appeciate it -- to really love it. I am so happy to be home -- my home, the one I've always loved and always missed. Always.
Every living room window I've looked out of over the years, reminded me of the one at which I sit today, my first window to the world. Every holiday, every national or global disaster, as well as every triumph of the human spirit celebrated on television -- our collective window to the world -- brought me back to memories of home; memories of our family gathered around our TV, the family hearth of the 20th century. I know it's the same for my brother, David, the only other surviving member of our family of origin. We have long acknowledged that the hearts and souls of beloved family and friends still live and breath in this patch of earth called home.
As happy as I am to be back, I know that I had to leave when I did. I was once a little girl with big dreams that could not come true in my hometown, for myriad reasons.There were many lessons I needed to learn that could not be learned here. Not all of them were the nice kind to learn. That fact notwithstanding, there were also many wonderful lessons to learn and opportunities to explore in LA. Some of them were magical, some technical and some still shine so brightly as to leave me bedazzled even now.
There are many people, places and things Angelino that I will sorely miss. I will miss being able to have lunch with some of my favorite people, like Robert Garcia. He was my Criminal Law and Evidence Professor at UCLA, and is currently the Executive Director of The City Project, where he has been battling the injustices of environmental exploitation for many years. He has also been heralded as one of the most influential attorneys in the nation, and I am privileged to say, remains a friend and mentor to me. I miss knowing we live in the same city. He is one of the smartest people I have ever known.
But I never could have had the opportunity to meet this brilliant man had it not been for Esther George, my 1st grade teacher, who taught me how to read. And how about Wanda Malmo, my 4th grade teacher, who further instilled that love of reading in all of her students? And how could I have learned how to put a sentence together without Eileen McGeehee, my 7th grade English teacher, who opened up a whole new world for me by having us conjugate sentences on the blackboard?
It is the foundation laid by them and countless others, like Art Celaya, Santos Vega and Mary O'Brien, to name but a few, that enabled the realization of those big dreams I had, once upon a time in Florence. And they've pretty much all come true for me; just about every single one. I had the opportunity to work for the largest prosecutorial agency in the world (the LA County DA's Office); as well as the opportunity to succeed in oral argument in an appellate case that made legal history (Mendoza v. Rast). It was an amazing ride, practicing law in Los Angeles.
In accomplishing these goals, however, I also learned that all that glitters is not gold. LA was loaded with excitement and opportunity for me, and my heart will always be a little bit Angelino. But the City of Angels is also filled with a lot of other things too; things like smog, noise, crime and traffic, traffic, traffic! All the noise and confusion makes it easy to be anonymous. People don't necessarily know their neighbors well. They hire people to walk their dogs, care for their children, clean their houses and prepare their meals because they are too busy trying to make a living in an extremely competiive market whee the cost of living is sky-high! And, did I mention the monster traffic in LA? It gets worse all the time.
While my homecoming has not been without its challenges, my needs for material and emotional support were met by an army of long-time friends. This community that once cradled me surrounded my needs with their resources, lovingly delivered and humbly accepted. As I recover from the trauma and drama that has been my life of late, I feel an enormous sense of gratitude and belonging,
I guess it all comes down to this: I prefer the personal accountability of this small town to the anonymity of the big city. It's easier to disappear in a big city; easier to get away with things, easier to not care. But, even if I wanted to, I can't hide out in this community, and wall myself off from the rest of the world as I am wont to do. There are folks here who have known me for over 50 years and will organize a search party if they don't see or hear from me for awhile. We all look out for one another in this 2-stoplight town. And, by the way, those 2 stoplights are adorned with lines of cars only twice daily, and ever so briefly, when people travel to and from work in jobs that don't rob them of all their time and energy. Time for family and fun is a priority here.
And then there is the natural beauty of the place and the clean air, especially after a desert rainstorm, like we had last night. As I sit here at my window, I marvel at the Palo Verde tree across the street. It is just beginning to show off its first few blooms of spring; tiny and bright yellow flowers. Soon that tree will be exploding with those screaming yellow blossoms, boldly announcing a new season of life.
I had a beautiful, fenced-in backyard in Los Angeles. I have a fenced-in yard here too, but my real backyard is the beautiful Sonora desert all around me, where I take my dog Maggie for long walks. We love to watch the sky change colors at sunrise and sunset. There really is no place like home.
I know that this is where I belong -- in Florence, AZ, my hometown -- my alpha and omega.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, All rights reserved.
Thursday, March 12, 2015
The id Post: Permanent Fail: Race Relations in America
The id Post: Permanent Fail: Race Relations in America: by Irene Daniel The other day I got a permanent fail message from an email I had sent to a friend, which was rejected and sent back to me ...
Permanent Fail: Race Relations in America
by Irene Daniel
The other day I got a permanent fail message from an email I had sent to a friend, which was rejected and sent back to me with a message informing me that any attempts to use that particular email address would only end in permanent failure. And I started thinking about those words: permanent fail. Sounds depressing, doesn't it?
And I started to think about how those words, "permanent fail" can be applied to race relations in the United States of America. We can't seem to get past it here in the land of the free and the home of the brave. What a shame. What a waste of human resources.
What keeps getting in the way? It would be easy to convict all white American males and blame it all on them. And it's not as though they bear no blame. At the risk of sounding like a little kid, "they started it!" But who is "they" really. Isn't "they" all of us, in a way. How do "they" keep getting away with something that, supposedly, everybody else is against?
Don't get me wrong. I think white privilege is at the root of our racial issues. In saying this, I do not suggest that whiteness is inherently bad. Nor is it inherently good. It's just whiteness. It is the priority that has been legally attached to whiteness for centuries that is the problem, and to white maleness in particular, that have led us to the racial unrest we are still experiencing in the 21st century.
But one class of person cannot completely dominate another without at least some whisper of consent from the dominated. Women who are taught to subordinate themselves to men, for whatever reason, have largely enabled this white male domination; especially white women. For they have accepted this social structure for generation upon generation; and in so doing strengthened it, to the detriment of all women, especially non-white women. Not all of us believe that we are in any way "less than" any man. And yet, we have to combat this subliminal bias every day, especially professional women.
Non-whites complain about race relations and how unfairly they are treated by the society at large, and especially by our criminal justice system. And they are not wrong. I have witnessed suspects, as well as victims, being treated very differently, depending upon their sex and skin color. But how come they only show up to the polls to vote in presidential election years? How often do they show up to vote for local elections, which probably affect them the most? Or show up for jury duty? How many eligible voters don't even bother to register to vote? Refusing to help ourselves by the only real means available out of a resentment of white privilege, or -- even worse -- an ignorance thereof, is only a self-defeating act.
Our system of governance and justice are woefully imperfect. President Lincoln did not reference a perfect Union, only a "more perfect" one, because he knew that perfection in governance is simply not attainable. Moreover, he understood history and the evolution of a people, and that we must always strive to improve ourselves, our communities and our nation. And this evolution cannot happen without the participation of an informed electorate.
I cannot use this page to denounce white people in general, nor white men in particular. While I find it difficult to understand the reticence of white conservatives to accept the fact of white privilege, for it is so very obvious to the rest of us; I am not as interested in changing their minds as I am in changing the leadership of our land. I want to see more people who are not white and not male in positions of leadership; not because I hate white men, but because I think fresh perspectives are necessary in order to move forward as a people. And this can only be done, at this time, by revolution at the ballot box, or revolution in the streets. Revolution by ballot is what has served this nation for over 200 years and, in my opinion, beats armed insurrection all to hell!
So what of this "permanent fail"? We cannot wait for the enlightenment of white conservative leadership on this matter. It is rare indeed to see one group voluntarily give up an advantage over another, whether that advantage was earned or not. I have discussed this matter with a number of my white conservative friends (yes, I do have them), and many of them have been able to appreciate their unjust enrichment at the expense of "the other." However, they are usually outnumbered by those who reject the notion of white privilege outright.
Therefore, it is up to us -- the non-white, the non-male, the non-heterosexual, the non-wealthy -- to change things. Women, Latinos and millenialls are the fastest growing demographic groups in this nation. And a million votes trumps a million dollars any day! However, they don't always show up at the polls.
Are you disillusioned with the "permanent fail" state of race relations in this country? Are you ready to do something about it besides point fingers and call names? Then here's 3 things you can do, starting now:
1. Register to vote;
2. Vote;
3. Show up for jury duty.
If you can think of something better, I'm all ears.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, All rights reserved.
The other day I got a permanent fail message from an email I had sent to a friend, which was rejected and sent back to me with a message informing me that any attempts to use that particular email address would only end in permanent failure. And I started thinking about those words: permanent fail. Sounds depressing, doesn't it?
And I started to think about how those words, "permanent fail" can be applied to race relations in the United States of America. We can't seem to get past it here in the land of the free and the home of the brave. What a shame. What a waste of human resources.
What keeps getting in the way? It would be easy to convict all white American males and blame it all on them. And it's not as though they bear no blame. At the risk of sounding like a little kid, "they started it!" But who is "they" really. Isn't "they" all of us, in a way. How do "they" keep getting away with something that, supposedly, everybody else is against?
Don't get me wrong. I think white privilege is at the root of our racial issues. In saying this, I do not suggest that whiteness is inherently bad. Nor is it inherently good. It's just whiteness. It is the priority that has been legally attached to whiteness for centuries that is the problem, and to white maleness in particular, that have led us to the racial unrest we are still experiencing in the 21st century.
But one class of person cannot completely dominate another without at least some whisper of consent from the dominated. Women who are taught to subordinate themselves to men, for whatever reason, have largely enabled this white male domination; especially white women. For they have accepted this social structure for generation upon generation; and in so doing strengthened it, to the detriment of all women, especially non-white women. Not all of us believe that we are in any way "less than" any man. And yet, we have to combat this subliminal bias every day, especially professional women.
Non-whites complain about race relations and how unfairly they are treated by the society at large, and especially by our criminal justice system. And they are not wrong. I have witnessed suspects, as well as victims, being treated very differently, depending upon their sex and skin color. But how come they only show up to the polls to vote in presidential election years? How often do they show up to vote for local elections, which probably affect them the most? Or show up for jury duty? How many eligible voters don't even bother to register to vote? Refusing to help ourselves by the only real means available out of a resentment of white privilege, or -- even worse -- an ignorance thereof, is only a self-defeating act.
Our system of governance and justice are woefully imperfect. President Lincoln did not reference a perfect Union, only a "more perfect" one, because he knew that perfection in governance is simply not attainable. Moreover, he understood history and the evolution of a people, and that we must always strive to improve ourselves, our communities and our nation. And this evolution cannot happen without the participation of an informed electorate.
I cannot use this page to denounce white people in general, nor white men in particular. While I find it difficult to understand the reticence of white conservatives to accept the fact of white privilege, for it is so very obvious to the rest of us; I am not as interested in changing their minds as I am in changing the leadership of our land. I want to see more people who are not white and not male in positions of leadership; not because I hate white men, but because I think fresh perspectives are necessary in order to move forward as a people. And this can only be done, at this time, by revolution at the ballot box, or revolution in the streets. Revolution by ballot is what has served this nation for over 200 years and, in my opinion, beats armed insurrection all to hell!
So what of this "permanent fail"? We cannot wait for the enlightenment of white conservative leadership on this matter. It is rare indeed to see one group voluntarily give up an advantage over another, whether that advantage was earned or not. I have discussed this matter with a number of my white conservative friends (yes, I do have them), and many of them have been able to appreciate their unjust enrichment at the expense of "the other." However, they are usually outnumbered by those who reject the notion of white privilege outright.
Therefore, it is up to us -- the non-white, the non-male, the non-heterosexual, the non-wealthy -- to change things. Women, Latinos and millenialls are the fastest growing demographic groups in this nation. And a million votes trumps a million dollars any day! However, they don't always show up at the polls.
Are you disillusioned with the "permanent fail" state of race relations in this country? Are you ready to do something about it besides point fingers and call names? Then here's 3 things you can do, starting now:
1. Register to vote;
2. Vote;
3. Show up for jury duty.
If you can think of something better, I'm all ears.
Copyright 2015, Irene Daniel, All rights reserved.
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
The id Post: The Great Society & Me: Part 3 -- My Professional ...
The id Post: The Great Society & Me: Part 3 -- My Professional ...: by Irene Daniel My first job ever was created by The Great Society (TGS). That's right, my very first job was created by the governmen...
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