Are you a white supremacist? I found myself wondering on Memorial Day as I walked through Helen, Georgia with my mom & stepdad. Along the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the town of Helen is an alpine-themed getaway for many city folks. This past weekend Helen was a meeting of two Georgias, two Americas. Spanish-speaking families gathered for cookouts along the green grass in the riverside city park. The public park was alive with people enjoying the Memorial Day holiday while watching merry tubers float down the river.
Not far from this scene, a restaurant called Cowboys & Angels had live music. The musician, Joe, was sitting in full Americana regalia, from an American flag button-up shirt, cowboy hat with an American flag rim, and shiny American buckle. He sang country classics to a crowd wearing their own American regalia. All these people united under the banner of a meal, but for how long? Until someone is angry or disappointed, and this place turns into a death scene?
Can you blame me for this concern? On our way up from Atlanta that day, we passed numerous signs for a candidate running for US Congress with the image of an AR-15 underneath his name. His only campaigning was the image of this gun. Is it fear-mongering or the symbolism of a desperate America? We also passed churches with little American flags along the yard. The awnings of many churches were covered with `Welcome` printed on top of American flags. It had me wondering, does this mean the church welcomes you only if you are American? What does it mean to be American to these folks? What version of America qualifies?
Are these the signs of supremacy? A little less doom scrolling is absolutely in order. But after the white supremacist attack in Buffalo, New York, and the incomprehensible school shooting in Uvalde, Texas, I have to wonder, is a small town in Georgia next? Can I know that this type of violence won’t happen where I go? I am afraid it is hard to rule out the possibilities.
Our American epidemic of gun violence is unequaled, unchecked, and problematic. The ideologies behind mass shootings are grounded in racism, power, and hatred. While we know that banning assault rifles worked in the past, it is not often mentioned in the public sphere. Interviews with NRA spokespeople seem circular and mind-boggling. I could recall that the history of this country is steeped in violence. The profit motive ultimately drives us. From there, where will we get the motivation to take this problem head-on?
Instead, defenseless children are being asked to prepare for active shooter drills. That `solution` itself is looking at this problem as an inevitability. That is AFTER someone has arrived armed at a school. The situation in Uvalde is itself a horror. The students did have this training. It was the police that failed them. Where then can we turn for help?
From the comfort of my home, I have pondered. Yes, we have (a fraudulent application of) the second amendment. Nonetheless, most Americans want some form of legislation for gun safety. One great article that covers this issue in depth is To Change Mass Shooting (Truthout). A deep soul searching is in order.
We never know where it will be safe to hang out. Can I go grocery shopping or teach in peace? I can wither away in my angst, or I can take action. Democracy survives on citizen action. I will attend the March for Our Lives in Atlanta. There will be many other locations where this March is going on. We, the people working for a more perfect union must make our voices heard. Even if it requires uncomfortable, non-violent confrontation. The alternative, to live constantly in fear, is not acceptable.
Surrounded by green pines and sitting on the red clay along Blue Ridge Lake, I stared into murky green waters. Under the water’s surface, a fish moved between the shade and the sun. She swam above rotting foliage and around a fallen branch. I watched her swim as I was digesting the hour before.
“Where are you from?” The real estate agent asked me. I sense she was trying to size me up rather than have a conversation. I stared at her in mild shock and disbelief while trying to hide my angst. “I live in Atlanta,” I responded with blank eyes. I felt judged and was reluctant to gab.
Inside my head, I meet with my vagabond turmoil. My mixed bag of responses floats in my head. “I am from nowhere. I am from everywhere. A three-continent list would be the beginning of my life story and genealogy.” But really, who has time for all that? Actually, I no longer know where I am from. I am living in a constant state of flux. Identity, ultimately, is a limiting form of identification.
How to Belong in Georgia?
Lately, there is a more significant issue. I no longer know where I belong. I feel like that oil slick hanging in the finger of Blue Ridge Lake- challenging to mix and sprinkled with yellow pollen dust. This theme, where are you from, I have touched on before. In Georgia, and in particular, now, this is a loaded question. I think the more relevant questions are: “Can we get to know each other? Where are we going? How can we work together to get there?”
Today, I am from a place where old lessons mix with an even older desire. Another middle-aged lady asks the same kind of question in the next hour. I looked for a non-BBQ lunch option and saw a well-loved Cuban sandwich shop in downtown Blue Ridge. After discussing the yucca frita, she asked, “What is your nationality?” I told her my ethnicity and that my forefathers are from India originally. She told me I looked Latina, and I grinned in acknowledgment.”How about you?” I asked back. She responded with a short history, “I am Tampanea (from Tampa, Florida). My father was from Spain, and my mother was from Italy. And then, my husband from Cuba. So here I am, arroz con mango.” The expression was perfect! A strange mix of rice and mango. I smiled, and we went on to a chat about Georgia turning blue in 2020. She mentioned that in the mountains of Georgia, there are pockets of people from everywhere. Her words absolutely resonated. I remembered my days of grass-roots campaigning; Atlanta is that salad bowl type of mix.
After lunch and cortado, I strolled along the train tracks cutting through downtown Blue Ridge. On a parallel street, tucked between strip centers sporting Trump posters, a shop called The Joint caught my attention. The shop includes a Beetle parked out front and psychedelic colored furniture on the grass. Here, I found an Atlanta ex-pat. For a little while, we both lived in Homepark. The Mudcats, a local Atlanta band I followed, played at her wedding. We chatted briefly about Georgia and the changes in Atlanta. Between our old memories and the mountain air, I knew I was related and belonged somehow to the history of this red-blue patchwork state.
The Trump Store just outside Ellijay
Heading back to the Airbnb, I pulled over for an irresistible photo. I spotted a real-life Trump Store behind a McDonald’s in a strip plaza adorned with for lease signs and potholes. Next door to the store stood a Vietnamese-American photo studio, and two doors further down was a Mexican restaurant, Mucho Kaliente. The dim-lit Trump shop sported a flyer for an Indian-American Labor Commissioner. Mr. Bhatt here poses with Trump as he campaigned for “Georgia First” & “America First.” That night, from my country farmstead Airbnb, I wondered how he would balance those with Trump’s racist rhetoric. I simmered on this while my Christian Korean-American host family cooked bibimbap downstairs.
Georgia Roots & Atlanta Dramas
Everybody I encounter in Atlanta is from somewhere else. The only people with ancient knowledge of the land in Georgia were pushed away. That now illicit history traced further back points at the ugly roots of our national story. The reckoning with our past is a step into what we are working towards. That is the only thing that will bring us all together. I am less interested in anyone’s background. I am more interested in their heart and how we can make space for all of us to belong. Atlanta is quickly gentrifying parts of its classic inner-city neighborhoods. Traffic along the 285 Perimeter gets worse annually. The effects of global warming make Atlanta even hotter. There are so many issues that touch all of us. It takes an understanding of where we want to go to work together.
Traffic is Democratizing; We all slow down (not Atlanta) Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
Our Spiritual Evolution
A force moving us towards inclusion and cross-cultural understanding is the process of our spiritual evolution. One of my favorite books,The Road Less Traveled, puts it this way:
The notion that the plane of mankind’s spiritual development is in a process of ascension may hardly seem realistic to a generation disillusioned with the dream of progress. Every-where is war, corruption and pollution. How could one reasonably suggest that the human race is spiritually progressing? Yet that is exactly what I suggest. Our very sense of disillusionment arises from the fact that we expect more of ourselves than our forebears did of themselves. Human behavior that we find repugnant and outrageous today was accepted as a matter of course yesteryear.
Dr. Scott Peck
Dr. Peck builds his idea of spiritual development throughout his book. Essentially, energy and intention toward progress grow from individual effort. First, a person works towards putting their spiritual house in order, connecting values with action, purpose, and discipline. That effort is personal progress. From there, people work to bring alignment into their community. They empathize when others are wronged; they work with a sense of purpose in their day-to-day relationships.
We Do Love One Another
We unite against displacement, injustice, or “othering” which we do not suffer because of our spiritual evolution. The situation in Ukraine is an example of this. In western countries, there is a wellspring in support of Ukraine. (Of course, for another post, this support has a sharp edge. Why don’t we feel the same sympathy for the loss of life in Palestine, Syria, and Yemen?) I was in Japan when the world rose in anger against the murder of George Floyd. For a while, the Facebook group I admin-ed was a flood of support, irrespective of race. Later, in Tokyo, many locals and foreigners united for the Black Lives Matter march. In the US, mass shooting occurs regularly. How much longer till we bring together a balance of competing interests in the gun debate?
The very fact that we care about others speaks to our collective spiritual evolution. While the world gets smaller, thanks to technology and transportation, we can move towards a genuinely pluralistic society. We get there by working on what unites us rather than what divides us. A shared future, a shared planet, and healthier public institutions are the steps to make Georgia part of an even better Earth. Just as we seek ways to honor the rights of those we consider “different” from us, we can actively create a sense of belonging. We can work towards belonging regardless of political leanings, ethnic background, and economic class. There are infinite ways in which we can support one another. The goal, I believe, is to find how we are united rather than how we are different.
The global implications for the war in Europe are huge. It can be overwhelming to address directly. So instead, my take on geopolitics at a grassroots level in this garden saga.
The Bright & Beautiful Lily
The Saga of the Beautifuls
Lily grows taller than the roses in this Garden. She wrinkles her ribbed petals open into an upside-down umbrella.
The Rose Sprays grow in clumps of threes and fours, spreading their petals in tight circles. They want to sun themselves and hope for a smell-drunk bee to fall into their eager bellies.
Prideful Lily spreads wide over them; her indulgent display casts a shadow on all the short flowers underneath.
“NO!” the Rose Sprays protest. “We need the sun, the glorious sun!” So, the Rose Sprays place their hopes in that wee sliver of sun that might slip through the gap between Lily’s far-flung grabby petals. Lily adjusts her angle. She cheekily stretches, closing up even the tiny sliver of hope.
The Rose Sprays pipe up under mumblings. The Rose Sprays schemed. “We could probably stab at Lily bit these thorns; we just need a breeze to reach over there…. or maybe our caretaker might show Lily some sense.”
Overhead, a bee lands inside Lily’s newly advertised pistil, erect and pointing to the sky.
In the Garden’s next row, the Freesias are fighting amongst themselves. One new bud is opening over the top of the older ones. Resigned sighs & self-imposed tremors came from the dilapidated white blooms below.
A stand of tulips watched silently. Most of the tulips are proper and keep stiff upper lips. They won’t fight out loud amongst themselves. In all the fuss, though, just one, Mr. Tulip is just beside himself. Can’t all those grumpy flowers just shut up! Mr. Tulip recently developed a rash of red among his set of yellow petals. He tilted his body slightly, hoping that the garden master won’t notice his red hue.
Orchid’s bold bloom is withering away in the other corner with potted fellows. She tries hard to keep her petals tight until the deceased blossoms fall. If she manages to stay gorgeous, she’ll get to hang out in the showroom just a bit longer.
Next to the Orchid is potted Hydrangea. She is super pregnant with tight unblossomed babies. She silently wishes the fighting Rose Spray & Lily would keep it down. Hydrangea needs all her energy to push through tiny bursts of purplish flowers. Her blooms are due to burst any day now.
Allison came out to look over her Garden. Allison is the keeper of the Garden, equalizer, and consummate adjuster of angles, positions, and hierarchies. All rules and orders were delivered under her watch. She noticed the bright blooming Lily. With a snip of her garden clippers, Allision brought the sun to the Rose Sprays. Allison: the peacemaker, and the murderer too. Allison returned indoors with Lily in her gloved hand to adorn her dining table.
Sunny the Cat meandered into the Garden. He liked to play with the flowers unsupervised. He nuzzled Mr. Tulip and then gazed at the other flowers. Suddenly, Sunny pounced across the Garden and swatted at the base of the Freesia. A few older blooms fell to the ground. Casually, Sunny pawed at the dead flowers here and there. Allison popped her head through the window. “Stop that silly cat. That is MY Garden.”
The Orchid shuddered. The Hydrangea pushed a bit more. Mr. Tulip blushed deeper. The Rose Sprays sighed. The Freesias cried.
This Martin Luther King Day, I am reflecting on Dr. King’s legacy while still wondering about the mob attack on the Capitol last year. The mob, led by a demagogue, carried to the symbolic heart of our democracy the fire of America’s unaddressed spiritual crisis. The joint tensions of race, class, and social change fueled the rage of these angry white men. The work of James Baldwin, Dr. Martin Luther King’s contemporary, can shed insight on the rage of the mob. Baldwin’s The Fire Next Time diagnoses our current predicament with the juxtaposition of history, myth, and an understanding of our personal American psyche.
James Baldwin & Dr. Martin Luther King: They Did Not Always See Eye to Eye
Though first published in 1964, Baldwin’s The Fire Next Time can shed light on the psycho-spiritual issues in America today. Baldwin’s work provides insight into how contemporary race relations grow from the country’s history and how this history has tainted our social relations. While Baldwin is searing in his criticism for America, he also has an unshakable hope for the country. His optimism is rooted in our capacity for spiritual growth. Baldwin suggests that the black & white souls of America must work together to resolve our racist pollution. The way out of our mess requires confronting the same venom that led to the Capitol mob on January 6, 2021. We must face our past injustices, our current inequality, and our national psyche.
An Unmitigated Disaster
In early January 2021, I was re-readingThe Fire Next Timewhen I saw that Baldwin’s language could speak directly to the attempted coup of January 6, 2021:
“…the political institutions of any nation are always menaced and are ultimately controlled by the spiritual state of that nation. We are controlled here by our confusion, far more than we know, and the American dream has therefore become something much more closely resembling a nightmare, on the private, domestic, and international levels. Privately, we cannot stand our lives and dare not examine them; domestically, we take no responsibility for (and no pride in) what goes on in our country; and, internationally, for many millions of people, we are an unmitigated disaster” (emphasis added).
The tarnished American dream, seen on private, domestic, and international levels, grows from our unconfronted past. Baldwin points to America’s early history as the origin of our crisis. The American experiment began on lands taken by force and then cultivated by slave labor. This violation of humanity and land speaks to America’s imperialist roots. We have used stories of chivalry and the white man’s burden to appease the victors’ conscience. We have scrubbed away our guilt in the washed-out versions of American history in high-school textbooks. Irrespective of the justifications provided, this pillaging of land and humans requires a blatant disregard for indigenous cultures, ways of life, and belief systems. For the sake of profit, an entire empire was built. The profiteering at the onset of our country set the pace for our current breakdown.
Our Injustices
In the book’s first essay, Baldwin addresses his nephew: “You were born into a society which spelled out with brutal clarity, and in as many ways as possible, that you were a worthless human being. You were expected to make peace with mediocrity.” In America, without a doubt, the cards are stacked against blacks. Housing is the clearest example of America’s inequalities. Many abroad wonder why the world’s most prosperous country has so many slums and ghettos. A fascinating video based on the book, The Color of Law, by Richard Rothstein points at how the federal government has helped create the defacto housing segregation we see now. Our various other inequalities illustrate a pattern of systemic injustice.
Baldwin shows with heart-breaking tenderness the spiritual consequences of racial prejudice. Baldwin writes, “One did not have to be abnormally sensitive to be worn down to a cutting edge by the incessant and gratuitous humiliation and danger one encountered every working day, all day long.” A life of indignity compounds the difficulties of an adult trying to earn a living to support his family. A poignant example is the helplessness a black parent feels when they cannot prepare their child for the cruelty of the outside world. There can be no compelling explanation for why police might beat up a 7-year-old child or why that child may be called `boy` well into his adulthood. The psychological effect of this implicit oppression cuts deep.
Baldwin’s insight parallels the lessons from Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Without a sense of security in life’s necessities, individuals cannot rise to their full potential. Before arriving at self-actualization, we need a sense of psychological safety and reliable daily bread. The injustices of police brutality, social prejudice, and overt hatred gnaw away at the very peace of mind required to truly blossom. While there are outstanding examples of individuals rising above their circumstances, for many the path to flourishing is obscured. In this way, Baldwin carries forward an extended metaphor. Imagine when an entire community is subject to the whims of white supremacy. Indeed, imagination is not required; we see examples of the wreckage every day. American society does not provide her black citizens the psychic space to self-actualize. Many blacks worked through the toughest odds to self-actualize in a meaningful way. Nonetheless, for generations, the nation has used its collective energy to suppress the full humanity of its people. This loss is magnified in America on a much larger scale, from the individual to our dominant culture.
A Difficult Identity
For Baldwin, the social identity of whites in America is dangerously linked to the subjugation of others. He writes that American mythology places the white man at the top of the social hierarchy. In our status-anxious society, whiteness is a mark of higher social standing. In this world, color represents stability, success, and predictability. Any move, then, towards equality is threatening to those at the top.
A groundswell of new activism suggests that the social order is changing. The mob on January 6 represents an angry reaction to shifts in our race relations. The first psychological response to that threat is existential fear. In turn, those benefiting from the status quo are awash in fear and insecurity about the new world. Our national non-response to the mob of January 6 suggests our difficulty awakening to a more egalitarian world. The country’s lackadaisical response to the insurrection reflects the calloused soul at the heart of our institutions. Our spiritual crisis will be unresolved while a contingent of America is uncomfortable with being social equals with a black man.
Baldwin demands, “We, the black and white, deeply need each other here if we are really to become a nation.” We must go beyond our reason and logic. We must address one another through brotherhood. We have that capacity within us. The angry mob of January 6, 2021 was pointing to our problem. Can we look within ourselves to expand our idea of America? Baldwin writes, “It demands great spiritual resilience not to hate the hater whose foot is on your neck, and an even greater miracle of perception and charity to teach your child not to hate.” This depth of psychological understanding, emotional intelligence, and generosity of heart is just the start. Baldwin’s solution and power come from reaching for our shared humanity. It is necessary. Can we hold a vision of a more just and equal America? This wealthy nation has a whole group wanting to see a better version of the country. Where could we all be if we saw race as fiction? Who has it in their heart to hold such hope? Imagine what we could be if we shook out the fear in our insides and turned that energy into helping one another confront the struggles of life. Ultimately, Baldwin’s insights are the starting place to see America in the context of history. It is within ourselves that we must ask the hard questions about our prejudice, injustice, and inequalities. The mob last year was seeking out a better America. Through great courage, we can work on that together.
Many of you have checked in on me to ask about the Olympics. This short post is for ya’ll.
The Olympic Rings Symbolize?
Actually, I share my 4th Japan-iversary, July 23, 2021, with the start of the delayed and maligned Tokyo 2020 Olympics. The series of scandals surrounding the Olympics is illustrative of bigger issues in Japan. Misogyny and pandering to the moneyed class is common place here.
Nearly 70% of the population here is unvaccinated. An almost equivalent portion do not want the games to take place. The city of Tokyo is on a sort-of lock down, and yet the Japanese government has allowed COVID positive Olympic crew to enter Japan. The welfare of Japanese residents barely goes into the IOC’s profit calculations.
This deeply anti-democratic approach makes me disgusted with the organizers of the Olympics. Yet, after four years here, I am not so surprised by Japan’s reaction. It seems that the worst of Japanese misogyny and work-to-death culture often fall on Japanese residents.
Thanks to my Twitter binge, I finally managed to get the second COVID vaccine two weeks ago. I followed some Twitter handles in the Tokyo community who were plugged into clinic information. There were irregular, continuous updates to follow the low down on which places had open vaccine appointments. Others here have taken a more sane approach. Most people are slowly coming around. While I wear a mask everywhere, I still do not feel comfortable in crowd places.
So, no, I will not be attending any ceremonies (even the residents of Japan were not allowed). Also, I will not be crowding around venues to try to peer in.
The Olympic events are now ongoing, broadcasted all over earth. At the same time, the COVID numbers in Tokyo have been rising. As a resident of Tokyo, I am nervous. It seems that we are subject to a larger game. When the Olympics variant of the corona virus comes out, will the IOC be held responsible?
