Prejudice

Each and every village, town, city, county, state, province and country wants to paint itself as having no prejudice when it comes to drawing tourists and the money generated by tourism.  That needs to be worked on - a lot - in Colorado.  My parents did their best to raise me as a person with no taught prejudice.  Dad turned down the offer of becoming an officer in the US Navy when he was informed that if he made officer-grade, he had to cease playing poker with his friends, who were African-American, Hispanic, Asian and Native American.  The family could have used the money that would arrive if Dad became an officer, but Dad refused to be cut off from his friends.
   Dad was raised on a farm, growing up during the Dust Bowl, and knew the necessity of working hard.  As a child, he was given the choice of working in the field for the afternoon, or playing in the waterhole with his brothers.  The boys chose to play in the waterhole.  When supper was served, everyone got a big first helping of all the food; when the boys reached to grab seconds, they were told that the men had worked, so they could eat as much as they wanted, and if there was anything left, the boys could split it.  At that time, the two "hands" on the farm were an African-American and a Native American.  The boys started to complain, and were informed that if they worked all day, they could eat all they wanted - but they had played.  One of the boys complained that the two hands "weren't even the same color, let alone a family member" under his breath.  Everyone at the table received a long commentary from Grandpa, and the boy who complained was sent to bed, then and there.  Dad learned early that everyone was considered to be equal.
   Mom, on the other hand, grew up on Chincoteague Island, in the state of Virginia, just below the Maryland state line.  While she was growing up, there were only five families of African-Americans living on the island.  And it was in the South.  There was an unwritten, but understood "law" that people of color were not to be seen moving about town unless it was broad daylight; that there was a dusk to dawn curfew set for anyone of color.  Chincoteague, with all of it's history - choosing to side with the Yankees during the Civil War - was not nice, or fair, to African-Americans.  As a child, I remember a few black watermen on Chincoteague, but most blacks were employed as cooks, house cleaners, maids, or odd-jobs-men.  I never really thought about the fact that there were very few people of color on the island.....
    I was born in Virginia, and, by my fifth birthday, when Dad retired from the Navy, after 22 years of service, I had lived in Virginia, Tennessee, and Kingsville, Texas.  When I was four, I was in love with the Hispanic boy next door, who was six, and I spoke better Spanish than I spoke English.  Then we moved to Gainesville, Florida, and I received the majority of my education there; spending the school year in Florida, and most of the summer on Chincoteague.  This was still the segregated south - Florida public schools were not integrated until January 1970, in the middle of my 8th grade year.  Mom and Dad had continued to have friends of all races, and I had, also - but I went to school with white kids, even if I went to church with black and Latino kids...  It was weird.   We were equal in church, but not in school.  Very strange.
   In any event, the majority of my high school graduating class was African-American.  We were proud of our school, and extremely proud that our high school marching band was frequently mistaken for the Florida A&M University marching band.  We had soul.  We could rock and strut with the best of the best.  With school integration, I suddenly learned a lot about African-American history that I had not been aware of - and I was appalled.  In high school, we learned about the Rosewood Massacre - which had taken place in the next county.
    I guess I was a very lucky child, in that my parents wanted me to accept every single person as a person.  Their skin color, eye color, and religious beliefs didn't make anyone a person to be shunned or afraid of.  There is no denying that I am a white woman.  I have Scandinavian and English blood in my veins - I have light colored eyes, very grey hair, pale skin, tons of freckles and lots of cherry angiomas - luckily, I've never been reported as a witch, for I'd fail all the skin tests!
   I have three step-children: two daughters, and the youngest is a son.  The eldest daughter, with red hair and freckles, married a white man and they have a daughter.  The middle daughter, with dark hair, light eyes and skin, married a black man; they have a daughter and a son.  My son married a black woman, and they have two daughters.  All of my grandchildren are perfect!  (Of course!)  I love each of them equally.  Period.
    In the past year, I acquired someone to share an apartment with, to split the costs and save money.  She is a 62-year-old African-American woman.  She was born and raised in Denver; she was the first African-American cheerleader for the Denver Broncos; she and her siblings were the first black kids to attend a Catholic school in Denver.  She is a wonderful friend and companion.  My cats love her.
    Two years ago, Beatrice, my now apartment sharer, and I went into an "upper class" organic food store here in Boulder.  Ten seconds after we stepped through the doors, we had a "tail."  The beverage manager stayed about one yard behind Beatrice, and mimicked her every move throughout our visit.  When we complained about this via e-mail and by telephone, we were assured that the manager was on his lunch break and just happened to be going the way we were....  Humph!  They also gave us a $25 gift card.  We have not returned to that store - Alfalfa's - and we never will.
   Yesterday, we decided to run up Magnolia Mountain and visit Nederland, just to get out of Boulder. We had a great breakfast at Turley's (here in Boulder), and then drove up "the back way" to Ned.  We parked in the town parking lot, and wandered over to the small downtown shops.  I was entranced with the geodes and trilobites and became lost in my own world.  I didn't see that the cashier and clerks pointedly ignored Beatrice, and stepped into aisles so that Beatrice had to move around them.  Helpful?  In no way.   We left quickly.   Then we went into The Rustic Moose.  We could have spent several hours browsing through their huge selection of gift items - Bea bought several items, and I saw several that I want to purchase when I have more cash available.  The ladies in The Rustic Moose were the exact opposite of the silent people in the gemstone shop.  They chatted with both of us, asked a few key questions, and ended up steering us toward things that we both loved.  The women who work in that store are saleswomen par excelance.  We had a very wonderful and reviving experience in The Rustic Moose.
    I hope that cashiers, sales clerks, clerks and managers will read this and contemplate how they approach, or ignore, customers.  Had the folks in the first shop been nice, they could have made a huge sale, instead  of nothing.  The Rustic Moose had a nice sales day, thanks to their friendliness.

Flags, Slavery & History

I might be inserting my foot in my mouth - but I'm going to share my thoughts on the subject of flags and what they represent to me, as well as slavery and history.  I was brought up to respect any flag that was raised.  Dad was a member of the US Navy, other members of the family served in other branches of the United States armed services.  Dad's family has been in the United States since the arrival of the Mayflower;  Mom's family has been in the US since the 1620s in Virginia.  Both sides of my parents families have fought for the United States - both when it was a colony of Great Britain, and once we gained our independence from our mother country.  Members of both families carried arms in our Civil War, and the families fought for both the Union and for the Confederacy.
   Having been born in Tidewater Virginia, and then living in Tennessee, Texas, and Florida, with summers and several years in Virginia mixed in, I've always been proud to be a Southerner.  Southerners are reputed to be the best hosts and hostesses, and as having the best manners, in the United States.  I have also carried on my shoulders the shame of the atrocities that were done in the name of slavery and economics in the South.  The enslavement and abuse of humans is an unforgivable crime.
   The current controversy is over what most people call the flag of the Confederacy - but they are incorrect.  The "Stars and Bars" that fly over the state capitol of South Carolina is a replica of the battle flag of the Army of Northern Virginia that was originally only flown approaching, and in battle, by the men under the command of Robert E. Lee.  The original, unofficial flag of the Confederacy was the Bonnie Blue flag - a medium blue background with a single yellow star on it.  It eventually evolved into the flag of the Confederacy of the United States, and looked like this:

  I, personally, have very different and conflicting feelings regarding the battle flag of the Confederacy.  I know how much it is hated by our African-American citizens - and they have great cause to hate that flag.  I do not disagree with anyone in that feeling.  I am saddened that the display of that flag is still so divisive.  And I am extremely sorry that it is viewed as a sign of white supremacy.  And, adversely, I am proud of all of my relatives who fought for what they believed in during the Civil War.

   One of the hardest things to comprehend is that the Civil War in the United States was not caused by the single issue of slavery or States Rights.  The United States citizenship numbers favored the areas longest "civilized" and industrialized - the northeast and central areas of the country.  Northern states had a higher population, and more representation in the US Congress.  The South was settled later, and was used mainly as the, then, "bread-basket" of the nation.  The importation of slaves began soon after this country was founded.  The South was mainly agricultural, and the huge field plantations prospered - due to the unpaid, unrewarded work of people who were stolen from their homes and shipped to another country, where they became slaves simply because of the color of their skin.  This is something that never should have happened.

   But it did happen, We cannot change history.  We need to examine it, learn from it, and head forward in time with a much better understanding of what caused the past.  Our Civil War was caused by economics, plain and simple; and by the fact the people were comfortable with what was then normal.  

   Slavery has existed throughout history.  In ancient warfare, as clans or tribes moved into a new area, the previous occupants were either killed or enslaved.  Slavery was practiced all over the world - in Asia, Africa, Europe, and the Americas.  If your family, group, clan, village or tribe lost a battle to invaders, most of the time, the men were killed and the women and children became slaves. India had slaves; Egypt had slaves; Turkey had slaves; the Roman and Byzantine Empires had slaves; Vikings had slaves; Russians and British had slaves. People with every skin color practiced slavery at one time or another in our history.  It is a hard concept to grasp, but it is true.

   Also, don't forget that odd class of people - the bond servants.  If a person was destitute, had no hope of any inheritance, had no family to care for them, or had debts, that person could, essentially "sell" themselves to a master for a certain term of years, doing designated work for that master, until their debt of servitude was paid.  A lot of people came to America as bond servants, or once they arrived in the Colonies, they found they couldn't cope as a single person, and signed on as a bonds-man, or bonds-woman.  One of my many times great-grandfathers signed on as a bondsman in London, and was shipped to Maryland, where he worked on a tobacco plantation for 7 days a week for 8 years.  At the end of his work term, he was given 10 raw, undeveloped acres and a bolt of cloth for clothing, and released from bondage.  Then he had to build a place for himself to live, clear the land, begin farming, support himself, raise a family, and, hopefully, prosper in the New World.

   Flags began as standards or signals that had a bright color or design on them that indicated a particular group - and usually the first histories of these "flags" dealt with fighting men.  A bronze "flag" on a tall pole that has been dated to 3,000 BC was found in the Middle East.  The ancient Sarmatians flew a dragon-shaped kite, carried by a rider on horseback; the Roman Legions had their Eagles and pennants.  The tricolor of the Netherlands dates back to the rule of Charlemagne; and the flag of Denmark has existed in its current form since 1478. National flags began being adopted by different countries, and their states, in the the late 17th century.

   As I stated previously, I can understand the dislike, distaste, and plain old anguish that seeing the Confederate battle flag can cause.  I don't think that the battle flag should be displayed, except when there is a Civil War reenactment being held.  But, having grown up in the Southern portion of the United States, I can also understand how some people, who have not studied history and whom are sadly biased want to display that battle flag.

    My relatives fought and died on both sides of the Civil War.  Some of our relatives helped run Underground Railroad stations, assisting slaves who wanted freedom.  Some of our relatives owned slaves.  Some of those relatives treated their slaves with great disregard and completely inhumane treatment; some of those relatives did not.  Some relatives were abolitionists.  Some were just concerned with getting a single meal a day.  My relatives ran the gamut from pretty rich to downright poor and homeless, depending on the place, the year, and the weather.

   I am extremely sorry that some of my ancestors actually thought it normal, believed in, and saw nothing wrong with the idea of owning another human being.  I cannot grasp that, myself.  But I am a product of the Baby Boom - I did not grow up in those places and those times when slavery was considered normal; if I had, maybe I would perceive slavery in a different light.  I'd like to think that I would be a better person than that - but I would then have no knowledge of the future, and would probably follow everyone else's thinking.

   Battles have been fought for eons.  Flags and battle standards have flown for thousands of years.  Slavery has existed for eons. The Confederate battle flag has existed for 154 years.  Let us retire it.

    We cannot change the past - but we can change the future.  Let us, and our children, be the ones who actually do make changes.

Baltimore

Gee, I feel like I'm a kid again - and not in a good way.  Besides idyllic times on Chincoteague and Assateague Islands during the summers, I can easily recall the Cuban Missile Crisis and being taught to crawl under desks or tables and cover our heads if we heard the missile warning;  I remember seeing my Father cry watching the news of President Kennedy's assassination; I can remember my parents taking mys sister and me to Civil Rights marches and activities; I remember the march in Selma and how profoundly upset my parents were, and them explaining why they were upset to me; I remember all the protests that followed Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, and I remember hearing news of his assassination; I remember the rioting across the nation following Dr. King's death - and the violence in Baltimore at that time; and I remember the assassination of Bobby Kennedy, and how deeply shaken my entire family was by what seemed to be a one-two punch: first Martin, then Bobby.  The world seemed about to break apart, and I was frightened.
  Flash forward about fifty years.  Today I am looking at rioting, again, in Baltimore, Maryland.  I always try to think of Baltimore as a happy place - the place where my parents spent their honeymoon back in 1948.  For me, Baltimore has always meant the Chesapeake Bay, boats, seafood, sailing, and shipping; now it's yet another city disrupted by racism.  Things have been rocky for some time, and I know it started long before the media was shining a spotlight on it - but it seems the list of men killed (African-American, Hispanic, white and other races) continues to grow without ceasing.  My mind immediately pulls up the names of Rodney King, Trayvon Martin, Timothy Thomas, Michael Brown, Joel Acevedo, Sean Bell, Eric Garner, Walter Scott and, now, Freddie Gray. Unarmed men, beaten and/or killed by law enforcement officers.  What is happening in our country?
  Less than two hours after the funeral of Freddie Gray, the latest victim of law enforcement officials, people were rioting in the streets of Baltimore.  Even though this young man's family was aasking for peaceful protests, if any, a few people got that adrenaline rush and decided to "push back" against authority.  I can easily understand marching and protesting with chanting and signs, I can easily understand a silent sit-in to commemorate the loss of life, I can easily understand getting upset over a huge and long-standing failure of care for those in custody.  But I cannot understand a mob mentality; I cannot understand attacking a CVS Pharmacy, breaking all the glass out of the building, stealing all the merchandise, and setting the business on fire.  The owners and employees there were not responsible for the death of Freddie Gray.  The Community Center next to a church that went up in a three-alarm blaze had nothing to do with the death of Freddie Gray.  Folks who's cars were torched on the street had nothing to do with the death of Freddie Gray. - Then, again, perhaps all of us, who sit back and watch these things happen, are, in part, responsible.  We haven't made our voices heard regarding the inequity between the races.
   I live in Boulder, Colorado.  My best friend here is African-American.  She is a part of the 1% of African-Americans who actually live in Boulder.  I don't have children of my own, but I have my husband's children from his previous marriages, and I'm happy and proud to say that two of those three kids fell in love with, and married, an African-American.  Skin color, eye color, hair color - any type of color of anything - should never make a difference in how a person regards another.  That is just plain stupid.
   I feel for the victims and the families of the victims of these crazy shootings, beatings, and deaths.  They each need to be thoroughly investigated, and punishments for those who did wrong - including any law enforcement officials - need to be meted out.  Unfortunately, none of these men can be restored to their lives.  No one knows how each of these persons might have changed the world - for the better, or for the worse.  I only know that there is no price tag attached to a human life.  Each and every life is priceless.  None of the above named men needed to die.  I can understand the anger - but anger must be controlled and used to make specific decisions; hopefully, those decisions will help change laws and procedures for the good.