The End of Times
We find ourselves living a dystopian existence marked by a deadly viral pandemic, economic ruin, global warming, bio-diversity collapse, rising white nationalism and police brutality. The failures of the current administration led by a corrupt and insensitive president assures that the situation will only get worse before reform and healing can take place. This seems a far cry from the America I grew up in. I was born in 1950, a time of great hope and prosperity. The greatest battle was over, or so America thought. Fueled by wartime manufacturing, the nation’s economy rode the wave of Victory and roared into the building of modern America. The interstate highway system, bridges, public schools, pipelines and the suburbs were built, moving and accommodating the burgeoning middle class. The GI bill brought newly found opportunities to many that otherwise would have never been able to attend college. The land of opportunity was perfect from my white middle class viewpoint. The face of America was getting a lift as we moved into the decade of the ‘60s. The Civil Rights Movement gained ground and stature and won victories as we patted ourselves on the back for a job well done. We faltered with an assassination and stumbled from that to a long, bloody war in a jungle on the other side of the world. We watched the nightly news of the deaths of our young men, the bombing of villages and the napalming of the jungle; none of that ever seemed authentic. What was the purpose? Surely the Communists weren’t going to topple people and buildings all the way around the globe to us. But those that can weave stories of ‘the others’ were teaching us to be afraid. It worked for a while, to get us more deeply entrenched in a war without purpose, without validity, without hope of winning or ending. And so it came to be that the people rose up in protest to say, “enough”. Young people, unwilling to die for some vague threat made their voices heard and they were eventually followed by others. The fists raised in the streets ended the war, but never addressed the inequity of the deaths of black soldiers.
The same method of marginalizing the enemy in Asia was the one that had been used since our Civil War against blacks. I grew up in a small college town of rural Southern Illinois. The messaging about people of color was subtle but persistent. Blacks couldn’t be trusted; they were to be feared; they were inferior intellectually; they were confined to the neighborhood east of the railroad tracks; a girl’s reputation was permanently marred by a relationship with a black man. There were three high schools in town: the public Carbondale Community High School for whites, the public Attucks High School for blacks and the University High School. Outside of our town, the racism was more ardent. Crosses were sometimes burned as warnings, other times black families were burned out of their homes. I’m sure there were other egregious acts that I wasn’t aware of in my beautiful bubble of white privilege. The race riots of the ‘60s were quelled with force and empty promises. It was easy as a white person to give a sigh of relief.
The only time I’ve ever been stopped by an officer I was treated politely and I had no fear of violence, jailing or disrespect. I was immune. I lived wherever I could afford accommodations, attended the Universities of my choice, was welcomed in private clubs and shopped wherever I liked. Literally having no personal experience with racism, it was easy for me to believe I also didn’t have any responsibility to push for change.
By the time I was a mother I was broadening my world outlook, or so I thought. Still though, I could hear the whispering voices from childhood warning against allowing blacks to integrate white neighborhoods and schools for fear of property values tanking. It may not seem like much progress, but I learned to ignore those voices of repression so that I could come to welcome the changing tide. Being self-absorbed I didn’t task myself with reading about black history or the civil rights movement. My voting changed though and became more progressive over the years. I became ever more worried about the environment, not the growth of the brown minority.
And so it was that our country marched into the twenty first century with a swelling middle class consuming at an ever increasing rate. Consumerism was growing the economy and ignoring the environment. Life was good for most because the voice of America was white; ‘the others’, the black and brown people and their grievances, forgotten as always.
When Obama was elected I believed the world would be different. In my naiveté I thought the tide had turned and bigots were dying out, LGBTQ rights would be secured, there would be prison reform and finally the fossil fuel industry would be taxed. But that day of reckoning didn’t come and the system didn’t change much. The backlash to our black president was so ugly, I was literally ashamed. As right-wing conservatives garnered power to block reform, corporate control in America grew out of control with the Supreme Court ruling on Citizens United. In its wake, the corporate hijacking of our government was complete and the progressive agenda that had benefited Middle America was crippled.
By the time Black Lives Matter was born, I was awakening to a clearer understanding of the world. It was obvious that the comeback “all lives matter” was a cover. Imagine the outrage from those that find BLM an affront, if there were the same frequency of deaths of white men at the hands of black law enforcement. The Tea Party agenda of non-governance and white nationalism grew and festered and then Trump happened and the mask of bigotry was off, and everything started unraveling.
As we hear of police brutality against persons of color, it has become increasingly more difficult to look away. The video of a black man being murdered by a city cop is a reflection of the systemic bigotry in our culture, but some people are bigger than life. As a youth George Floyd said, “I want to touch the world” and he has. His grizzly death must be catalyst for change.
George Floyd’s voice holds our collective cries for deliverance from the nightmare we find ourselves in. In this time and place a lot of people are expendable; old people, nurses, meat packers, people of color, the poor. That’s what we’re seeing whether we like it or not. People don’t matter anymore. Corporations matter. Billionaires matter. What kind of world do we want? Surely not this one. I see no path to building a better, more compassionate world for everyone until we face the systematic shackling of black people. Black Lives Matter! We cannot turn away this time. The images are too stark. The consequences too dire. Turning away would be choosing evil over good, profit over life, power over justice.
We are living through a perfect storm. Dynamic forces from several fronts are intersecting right now in 2020. As our nation struggles with violence against blacks and protestors by law enforcement, we are also witnessing the collapse of the United States as a primary leader on the world stage because our president is a Russian asset. Our democracy has morphed into a plutocracy that cares only for profits. White nationalism is on the rise and threatens a fascist takeover. The climate change crisis is bearing down upon us as we are witnessing environmental collapse of plant and animal species. All these forces have intersected while we are struggling to survive the virus that is bringing both death and financial ruin.
And so now in the year of the pandemic we all live with anxiety. I am filled with despair. Despair because the voice of truth, reason and the rule of law has been drowned out by chants of “Lock her up.” Despair because this administration has tossed aside the Paris Accord. Despair because we have concentration camps for children. Despair because the agencies of governing are being hollowed out and dismantled. Despair because there is no federal plan to protect our citizens from a ravaging virus. Despair because the wake of Covid-19 is the economic ruin of the middle class while the one percent profit from our loss. Despair because science is denigrated and therefore, so few willingly don the crucial mask. Despair because our allies have been abandoned. Despair because peaceful protest, a hallmark of democracy is under attack by the present administration. Surely, we can do better than this.
My entire life, making art has saved me from hurt, from loneliness, from aimless wandering. After nearly 70 years of this pattern, it’s the only way I’ve found to survive the anguish that life often holds and to celebrate the miracle and joy of the Cosmos. And so I hold a mirror for you. Every crisis has the seed for change. What do you want to grow? What weeds do you want to remove? What structure do you want to build in our garden?
Note: Recently I had the opportunity to participate in a writing challenge with three other amazing writers. We were given the task of writing our perspectives regarding the global pandemic and the racial tension in the United States after the murder of George Floyd. This essay was my submission to the project. All the essays can be read here: FromBehindMyMask.wordpress.com If you are interested in contributing, please submit your pieces to [email protected]