The first time I heard the phrase “vote for the lesser of two evils,” was when Hillary Clinton was chosen as the Democratic Nominee for the 2016 U.S. Presidential Election. I’m sure we all remember that enthusiasm for Hillary was low. She was widely disliked and many people were devastated at having to choose between her and Trump, but criticisms of her were immediately shut down by people claiming “she’s the lesser of two evils.” Basically, no matter how many valid reasons people had for rejecting Hillary, they had no choice but to shut up and vote for her because her evil was easier to swallow than Trump’s. Fast forward to 2020, and I’m hearing the same arguments all over again.Joe Biden is the Democratic frontrunner and his so-called supporters are out in full force, silencing any and all criticisms. They’re saying to “vote blue no matter who” regardless of his many faults because anyone’s better than Trump. I disagree entirely and I’m honestly sick and tired of hearing these arguments. There are many problems with this kind of mindset and I think it’s both harmful and unproductive to promote it, so here are the reasons why I don’t believe in “voting blue no matter who/voting for the lesser of two evils.”
One reason I’m not okay with these phrases is because they encourage people to settle for candidates that we *know* are unfit to lead us. We deserve better and should demand better from our elected officials, instead of just throwing our hands in the air and accepting a candidate who is proven to be unworthy in every way, shape and form. Progress is what I seek, and I know that settling for the status quo will get us nowhere.
I can’t accept “vote for the lesser of two evils” because in terms of Biden vs Trump, this phrase suggests that Joe Biden is somehow less evil than Donald Trump, which is a lie. In fact, I believe that Trump and Biden are the exact same brand of evil, the only difference being that Biden wears a blue MAGA hat while Trump wears a red one. There are too many similarities between the two, one being that Trump and Biden are both racist. Trump has labeled Mexicans as criminals and rapists, was sued by the U.S. Department of Justice for housing discrimination against Black people, proposed a ban against Muslims, and referred to African countries as “shithole countries” (these examples hardly scratch the surface of his history of racism). Biden was good friends with white supremacist James Eastland and gave a eulogy at the funeral of segregationist Strom Thurmond. He opposed desegregating schools because in his own words, he didn’t want his kids going to school in a “racial jungle.” He called Barack Obama “the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and clean,” said that “poor kids are just as bright and talented as White kids” during an Iowa town hall, and helped write the 1994 Crime Bill that expanded mass incarceration in the U.S.
Other similarities between Trump and Biden? They’ve both been accused of sexual assault/harassment/uncomfortable physical contact by numerous women. Trump has accusations from 20+ women, while Biden has eight, (and has also been seen on video inappropriately touching underaged girls and smelling their hair). Both have disappointing track records on LGBTQ+ rights, both have credible accusations that they’re mentally unfit to be president, both have worked for administrations that put kids in cages, and both are warmongers. Now that I’ve laid out all the reasons why Biden and Trump are horrible in pretty much all the same ways, how exactly is one better than the other? Swapping out one bigot in chief for another is not a win, giving me no reason to rally behind either candidate. I’m a marginalized person and my marginalized community will be harmed by both Trump AND Biden, which is why I cannot just sit down and “vote blue no matter who”—and anyone who tries to bully others into doing so is blatantly choosing their party affiliation over their morals.
It’s time to kill the idea that we should choose a lesser evil over another, and that we have to vote blue no matter who. I need people to realize that politicians work for us, not the other way around, so we shouldn’t give up our power by accepting less than what we deserve and by being afraid to demand what we need from them. I also need people to realize that Donald Trump is not the sole reason for all the evil in this country and that replacing him with Biden will not put an end to it. In reality, Trump is a product of the evil in the U.S. and in order to make real change in this country, we must dismantle the systems that allow him to thrive, not just focus 100% of our energy on him. Since people will always do what they want regardless, I’m not going to end this article by telling anyone who to vote for. But I will tell you not to allow the direction of the 2020 election to make you feel hopeless, because regardless of who’s in office—whether it’s a Democrat or Republican, whether you love them or hate them, there is work that needs to be done. We must stay aware, stay involved, and look out for our fellow community members, because in the words of my good friend and one of the smartest, most passionate activists I know, Brooke Solomon…
“No president is going to save my community.”
While electing a president is important, it is not the only way to create change. The power lies within us. Real change exists outside of electoral politics, and we need to be the ones to create it.
I can hear mom’s voice battling with God in prayer. It’s the first thing I can hear even before I can open my eyes to start the day.
My bedroom is underneath my parents’ bedroom in the basement of the house.
Some mornings the murmurings of her voice cajoles me out of my sleep. Some mornings it jolts me out of my sleep. Some mornings her syncopation consoles me back into sleep.
She prays like someone having an argument on the telephone.
You know when you can’t hear the person on the other side of the phone call but you know that the side you can hear is winning because the passion in their tone is increasing?
This was the voice that woke me up. Every. Single. Weekday. At 6 am.
“LORD GOD, I’M COMING TO YOU IN THE NAME OF JESUS…”
I bet you her fists are balled right now, I think.
“YOU SAID IN YOUR WORD, OH GOD…”
Yep, she is definitely wagging her index finger in the air right now.
“HEAR THE CRY OF MY HEART, OH GOD…”
Ah, she’s slapping her chest again.
“BRING BACK MY HUSBAND, LORD! HEAL MY MARRIAGE! RESTORE THE YEARS THE LOCUSTS HAVE EATEN…”
Welp, that shit’s neva’ gonna happen.
“Time to get up for basketball practice,” I think to myself as I get out of bed.
I could hear that she was crying again. But unlike at night when she would wail herself to sleep, I could hear the fight in her voice in the morning. I could hear her grappling for her marriage, for her sanity, and for her survival at dawn.
I mean, how else can you manage raising four children playing sports, a full time job as a NYC public school teacher, studying for your Master’s Degree in English in the evenings, and emotionally reconcile with the implications of a wayward husband in the late 90s without seeking daily divine intervention?
(Silverback’s Note: Welcome back y’all! There’s so much to say about the global public health crisis that has most of us currently confined to our homes. Until we are safe to roam free, I am reminded that Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for 27 years and if Madiba could endure, then so can we. Blessings to you and your loved ones.
My last piece, “Music Is Life” triggered healing conversations and reflections for a lot of folks. I am so grateful for your feedback, thank you. The piece also unlocked my ability to share stories about what fueled my drive and focus on the basketball court.
If my father’s absence was the antagonist in my life story, then my mother’s presence was the protagonist. I am excited to share my love for my mother, the game of basketball, and most importantly, the love for a lifelong journey I have embraced through therapy. Please enjoy reading this very special 3-part series. For the first time ever, we present Power of Love.
P.S. – Click on the section hyperlinks to listen to the tunes.)
It was around 1996 when we learned of my father’s infidelity. This news was a devastating blow to our home. I was unable to fully contextualize the damage but I knew that my dad was with another woman. Their explosive arguments were burning hotter by the week.
Raising four young children, effectively as a single parent, was taking its toll on mom and she had ballooned to 330 pounds.
I learned one morning that her nightly tears often continued well into her twenty-five minute drive into work. She was a public school English teacher and on the days that I had off from Catholic school, I would witness how she began most mornings in the car.
The northbound drive from East Flatbush to Bedford Stuyvesant in the late 90s was not pleasant.
I wanted to listen to this new rapper named Jay-Z on the radio but Mom always wanted to listen to the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir. She loved this one particular album on cassette, God Is Working. Oh man, did she love this one song called “More Than Enough.”
She couldn’t sing worth a lick but she would rewind that song over and over. She used to say that one day she was going to audition for the church’s Grammy-award winning choir.
Fat chance.
Sometimes her singing would be so off putting that I’d just tune out her words. Until, about five minutes into the drive, I’d begin to hear sniffles.
The drive would take us past the cross street where my dad’s other woman and their two young children lived. The sight of the block was too much to bear for my mother. The tears would fall.
Then she’d turn up the volume, as the rumble of the piano keys welcomed us to her favorite song, the sound of the keystrokes pierced through the silence in the minivan.
“Jehovah Jireh” the soloist would sing. “My provider…”
On one of our rides, I remember approaching the intersection where Ebbets Field formerly stood. There was a painted mural of my idol, Jackie Robinson, to commemorate his becoming MLB’s first Black baseball player.
“Look!” I pointed. “Did you know that Jackie broke the color barrier in 1947 playing for the Brooklyn Dodgers?” I ask, attempting to distract her from her sadness.
Ignoring my attempts at a diversion, mom would continue to sing along with the choir with more vigor, “Jehovah Shamma,” she continued through her tears. “You supply all my needs…”
By this time on our drive, we were stopped at a red light and her eyes were closed. Suddenly, a knock came to the window. Startled, we realized it was a panhandler from the men’s homeless shelter looking to squeegee our front windshield in exchange for small change.
“You know I really wanna get better at basketball,” I continue blabbering, ignoring the strange man at the window. “I am excited for my teams tournament this weekend. You think Dad will come?”
She kept singing her heart out without responding. She was in her own world.
Those drives were tough for me to experience from the passenger seat but even more painful for her to experience as the driver but we both were looking for inspiration to get us through the day.
As our old minivan puttered and squealed to a halt in front of the burgundy clay colored doors of Primary School 308, Madi would begin to transform out of her sadness.
“Come on Madi, you gotta focus now,” she’d say to herself in the sun visor mirror.
“Lord, you are more than enough…”
She turned off the ignition.
“You are more than enough for me.”
I too was struggling with feeling that I wasn’t enough. Mom had discovered her resolve in the mountains of Puerto Rico. A resolve that I was lacking.
Where did she develop such resolve? I wondered.
Instead of telling you, I’ll step aside and let Mama Soulful share her own journey with you.
Mama, tell us about those dreams you had about “La Isla del Encanto.”
OYE COMO VA.
I open my eyes wondering if I’m in my Tío Felito’s house in Puerto Rico. As I look around the room, I remember, Oh, I’m in my dorm at Stony Brook.
Why do I keep having those dreams?
In my dream, my Tío Felito, the quintessential Catholic, keeps warning me to go to church.
Why? What does he mean?
Somehow I knew in my gut that God was calling me to serve Him, but I kept pushing that thought to the recesses of my mind.
I knew that I could not serve God and date Jordache — my unbelieving boyfriend — at the same time. In my mind it was either God or Jordache. Of course, I chose the love of my life, Jordache. That one decision led me to speed through my blossoming girly college days into unanticipated womanhood.
During the course of one week in May of 1984, my life changed dramatically: I graduated from Stony Brook University on Sunday, May 20th. Three days later, I turned 22, and three days after that, this emotionally immature woman had become a wife.
It would take a few more dreams and many, many more explosive arguments with my husband that would lead me to the altar of the Brooklyn Tabernacle in March of 1986.
I was so disheartened. It was at that altar that two young women approached me, as tears of pain were streaming down my face. They sympathetically asked me if I wanted to accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior and say a prayer of confession with them.
I said, “Yes.”
Of course, I had no idea what I was doing and the tremendous lifelong impact that one decision would have on me and my little two month baby, Neville Andrés (Andy). A decision that I can honestly say transformed me from a weak, emotionally immature woman to a mighty warrior for Jesus Christ. My heart is saturated with profound gratitude as I recognize that I am still evolving, still growing and still seeking God’s truth to define who I am. As I reflect upon my metamorphose into womanhood, I know that this journey of faith began long before my college years. It began when I was just a little girl.
“Ouch,” I whispered in pain as my mom pinched me.
She did this sneakily under her crossed arms as the church choir sang, “Hear, O Lord the sound of my call.”
She was always nudging me to pay attention as the priest gave the liturgy. I can remember from the time I was a little girl how Mami adamantly taught me and my two older sisters to fear and love God. She insisted we pray before a meal; reminded us to always say, “if God wills it” when we made plans; or urged us to kneel by our bedside to recite The Lord’s Prayer. She made sure we received all the sacraments and attended church every Sunday despite the cold temperatures or our grumpy adolescent attitudes that only desired to sleep in on Sunday mornings.
Despite my religious conversion to a nondenominational Christian Church at the age of 23, I am extremely grateful for my Catholic upbringing. This orthodox foundation was the cornerstone upon which my faith has thrived on for decades.
In 1950 my beautiful mother, Isidra Natal, prematurely left her home in the country at the tender age of 18. She arrived after two days of weary travels from Puerto Rico then to Florida and finally to her final destination, New York, a strange city she had never encountered.
While living in a two bedroom apartment with her three cousins near Albee Square Mall in Brooklyn, she is acquainted with a young, handsome brown skinned man with soft straight black hair from the island of Cape Verde, located on the West Coast of Africa.
Shortly after my parents met, they got married and eventually had three daughters: Antonia, Leda, and Madeline. I am a proud, native Brooklynite born in the early 1960s when it was very popular for Cape Verdeans to marry Puerto Ricans for a green card.
During my early years, I can vividly remember the instability of my home. Growing up, my dad would always argue with my mom for many different reasons. It was either the house was not cleaned well enough or we had company visiting without his approval or simply lies that my dad’s family spewed out to enrage my father against my mother. Most of these arguments would always end in some sort of abuse. The arguments were constant and fervent while living in Brooklyn and continued even more when my parents bought a house and moved the family to Hazlet, New Jersey.
As one of fifteen siblings, my mom is the matriarch of our family. Over the course of their marriage she endured emotional and physical abuse as well as infidelity until she could no longer tolerate it. She tried to keep the family intact as best as she could, but the abuse was more than she could handle. In spite of the chaos in our home, Mami shielded us by keeping us girls as close to her as possible.
In 1975, she decided to move to Puerto Rico with my sister, Leda, and me in order to file for divorce. Despite the many years of loneliness and neglect, my mom was and is strong and resilient. She made sure we did well in school, attended every parent teacher conference, put food on the table, exposed us to the world of travel, and even made sure we maintained very close family ties. She taught us that family relationships are fundamental, and the importance of supporting each other and staying connected. My mom is a woman of character, as my grandmother would say. She instilled the will, drive, determination, and the gift of civic pride that women during her era were not sufficiently accredited for. Her fortitude of character can be easily traced back to my grandmother, Petrona Adorno Natal.
“Madelina, olvidate de esa gente que familia tienes demás aquí,” my grandmother would lovingly remind me to forget about my father’s side of the family because my maternal side of the family was more than enough.
She’d tell me this every time I’d pour out my anger, pain, and frustration of how my father’s family treated my mom, my sisters, and me. She assured me that their rejection meant nothing because of the enormous family in Puerto Rico that loved us deeply.
The rejection and my father’s violent temper led me to reject my Cape Verdean roots. I wanted nothing to do with any of them. They shunned us, and I buried the memory of this abusive family into the deepest part of my recollection.
That is why the move to Puerto Rico was critical to my identity. Who was I? Where did I self-identify? It was there in the mountains of Puerto Rico that I found true familial love.
It was there that I found a part of my identity as a New Yorican as I embraced the vibrant education, the Spanish language, the rich culture, and the delicious food.
Every morning abuela brewed a steamy pot of fragrant coffee. She’d always make sure my tacita de café was on the table ready for me to drink before going to school. This was the beginning of my lifetime love of having una tacita de cafè every morning except now they are not tacitas they are large mugs of coffee.
The caffeine fueled me, late into the night, to study books that were written in a language that was very unfamiliar to me until I slowly and arduously adopted it as my second language. The pay off of those long exhausting nights of studying finally came the day I graduated from 9th grade as the valedictorian of the graduating class. A distinction I embraced because many kids in the class did not like that a New Yorican, who had arrived two years prior, snatched up this prestigious title.
Life there was rich, peaceful, and filled with wonderful, new experiences that I didn’t always appreciate at that moment, but learned to treasure them as an adult.
In the summer of 1977 Leda and I arrived in Brooklyn before my mom. We stayed between my father’s house in New Jersey and my paternal grandmother’s house in Brooklyn. In preparation for my mother’s arrival to New York, I took on the responsibility of trying to find a place for us to live because after all my parents were divorced, and I did not want to go back to living in the house in New Jersey where so much suffering had taken place. So at 15, I was able to find an apartment for Mami to look into upon her return.
When she arrived she secured our three-bedroom apartment in Flatbush. I was registered in the 10th grade at Erasmus Hall High School, and Leda was enrolled at Brooklyn College. Antonia had graduated from William Paterson University and was living in New Jersey in her own apartment. Mami then found a secretarial job at the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey. My father continued living in the house my parents had purchased in Jersey and would visit us regularly. Despite the divorce, he always stayed connected to the family.
I was reacclimating myself to my native Brooklyn roots and like most teenagers at the time, I was consumed by school, friends, disco music, and my first part time job.
Working at Tasty Twin, a small sandwich hero shop, taught me a different level of responsibility that I had never experienced. The owners, Juan and Manuel, were two elderly gentlemen from Spain who simply adored and trusted me, but they worked me like a dog for a mere $2.50 an hour. In their absence, I managed this modest sandwich shop where the Off Track Betting gamblers and commercial workers on Flatbush Ave would sit, socialize and build community relationships. As the cashier, I made sure all monies were counted and secured while Willy, the sandwich maker, cleaned up the shop before closing. My meager earnings allowed me to purchase things I knew my mom couldn’t afford to buy.
The late 70’s were the years of Elvis Presely’s passing, Jimmy Carter’s 39th inauguration as president, and watching and mimicking Soul Train dance lines. Disco music was blazing everywhere from the radio to people walking down the block with boom boxes on their shoulders blasting their music. When Saturday Night Fever came out in the movie theater, it was a hit of monumental proportions that also contributed to the disco fever of the day.
Next door to Tasty Twin was a movie theater where Leda worked the concession stand. The manager there favored Leda and I, and she always gave me free passes to see Saturday Night Fever at least half a dozen times. My goodness, I spent so much time trying to learn John Trovolta’s dance moves. Simultaneously, roller disco was also en vogue and everyone was trying flashy moves on their skates.
Every Friday night, Antonia, and I would hang out at the Empire Roller Skating Rink across from Ebbets Field. The DJ would blast the music and the skaters would skilfully roll to some of the sweetest, most soulful music of that era. Skating was so much fun, in spite of my ungraceful moves. Antonia was a talented skater, and I was just trying to copy her graceful moves as any little sister would do.
While at Erasmus, I was the president of Arista, the national honor society. I was also the vice president of student government. These roles allowed me to develop leadership skills that I did not possess.
Academically, the years in Puerto Rico had revealed that I in fact had some gaps in my education in comparison with other students. However, out of a class of 723 seniors, I graduated number 23. This sweet accomplishment was a reflection of my deliberate determination and effort to excel in my education.
Erasmus Hall blessed me with my life-long friends: Judy, Annmarie, Magally, and Janine. They were all high academic achievers that challenged me to be the best version of myself and to always stay on task and overachieve. As the years passed, my relationship with these very successful ladies has grown very deep roots that have gone beyond friendship. We are family!
Sadly, Janine passed away four years ago of pancreatic cancer. I was so broken-hearted to the point of almost missing her funeral because I was not prepared to face her death. I would have missed out on the biggest surprise of my life had my husband and my son, David, not continued to coax me to fly down to Georgia to say my final goodbyes.
Prior to Janine’s passing, she had arranged her entire funeral service. Unbeknownst to me, she had planned for me to offer words of comfort during the service. I was shocked, honored, and extremely grateful that I was present to fulfill her last wish.
Sleep well until we meet again at the pearly gates, my friend.
In 1980, I started a new chapter of my life at Stony Brook University on Long Island. My parents were very hesitant about allowing me to attend because they wanted me to live at home, but they finally relented with a little coercing from my college counselor.
I guess they feared I would go wild and not come home; however, that was the furthest thing from my mind. I went to all my classes, got involved in the Hispanic club, and pretty much stuck to the books all the time. Every weekend I went home to see my family and to work a part-time job at my local Key Food supermarket.
All was pretty much quiet, until April of 1981 when Mr. Cool and Confident danced into my life at Annmarie’s birthday party. After that first dance with Jordache, I was smitten.
The Coronavirus pandemic has become the #1 issue worldwide, causing widespread panic, anxiety, and isolation. I’ll admit, I originally thought the virus would be a fleeting issue; but as the death toll rises and countries lockdown, the seriousness of the situation can no longer be underestimated. I’m concerned for those who are most vulnerable to the virus, and the emotion that I find myself feeling the most is anger. The United States government has failed to properly respond to the Coronavirus outbreak, and this failure has shone a major light on the fact that the U.S. is horrifically flawed down to its’ very core, and has spent years devaluing, mistreating and oppressing anyone who doesn’t belong to the 1%. Most of us have already been aware of the many social inequities going on in this country, but this virus is now waking others up to how bad things truly are.
On March 7th, ABC News tweeted about a man with Coronavirus that worked several shifts at Hobart’s Grand Chancellor Hotel instead of self-quarantining. This is dangerous because his actions will more than likely cause harm to those who came in contact with him. However, his actions point to the larger issue of poverty in the U.S., as he is just one of many workers that have long been forced to put their health & the health of others in jeopardy because being fired or missing a paycheck could lead to their downfall. In addition to this, people are afraid to even get tested because of the expensive medical bills, another example of just how rampant poverty is in the supposed “best country in the world.”
Moving on to the closure of K-12 schools and universities, the Mayor of New York confirmed that NYC public schools are closed until April 20th; however, it was originally reported that the schools wouldn’t close since 114,000 homeless students depend on school meals to eat. Numerous colleges across the country have sent students home and will have classes online. But, this immediately raised concerns about the number of homeless students who depend on their college for housing and food, who were basically being thrown to the wolves. None of this is okay and it’s shameful that this country acts as if it is.
The fact that so many people are being forced to choose between their health or losing their job, and that tons of students are living in extreme poverty with no access to food or shelter outside of the schools they attend is not an individual issue, but a structural one. The United States is a rich country with enough money to guarantee things like healthcare, paid sick leave, and food/housing for its’ residents, but those who have the power to do this simply choose not to. Billions of dollars are poured into things like the military budget—so imagine what this country would be like if the money were put towards things that are actually needed, like healthcare or canceling student loan debt?
Furthermore, Coronavirus has shown that progressive policies that have been shut down for years are doable. The NYC Council Speaker, Corey Johnson, announced on March 15th that eviction proceedings would be suspended statewide until further notice (Miami Dade will be doing the same). In Bexar County, arrests for minor offenses have been suspended to prevent crowding in prisons. In Detroit, residents who’ve had their water shutoff will have their service turned back on. My question is, why did it take a pandemic for these things to be done? People have spent years calling for these actions to take place! Many of us are aware that evictions, mass incarceration, water shutoffs, etc. are backward, cruel and unnecessary, and should have ended a long time ago. But we were repeatedly told that this was impossible and that these things somehow needed to happen for society to function. Now that we’ve seen firsthand that that’s bullshit, and that our government has always had the power to make decisions that actually make life easier/better for us, we cannot allow things to go back to the way they were.Once the pandemic is over, those in power will attempt to go back to business as usual, but we can’t let them do that.
I urge everyone to let this moment radicalize them, and to demand that the rights being given to us during the pandemic remain. Greed and selfishness have been the heartbeat of this country for too long. People have stood up and fought back in the past, and this pandemic has been a breaking point for so many of us. It’s my hope that from this point on, people will stand up and fight back in a way that has never been seen before. In the words of Assata Shakur…
“It is our duty to fight for our freedom. It is our duty to win. We must love each other and support each other. We have nothing to lose but our chains.”
An email was sent to my employer’s special-interest lists the other day: “Does anyone know where I can find some N95 masks? All of the local stores are sold out.” I was stunned. My company is staffed by some of the most logical, reasonable, critically-thinking people I’ve ever known. People at my own company were panicking about the novel Coronavirus, also called COVID-19. Why?
The Centers for Disease Control (CDC) has been a reliable source of unbiased, evidence-based public health information for decades. But, they have been oddly inconsistent in their messaging concerning the coronavirus outbreak – which has been declared a pandemic by the World Health Organization (WHO) on Wednesday (3/11/20), and President Trump is largely responsible.
When the virus first entered the country, the White House squabbled over whether to even share what it knew, and what plans, if any, were being made to keep Americans safe. Meanwhile, experts at the CDC were prevented from communicating with state agencies and providing information to the public. So, state and local governments, airlines, and other companies worked to devise their own plans. Conferences were canceled, airlines put new sanitation policies into play, companies began plans for allowing employees to work from home and to provide financial support to hourly workers. We were standing by until February 25th, as President Trump was preparing to return from New Delhi when he was forced into the reality of the situation. Only then did he signal any intent to address the issue.
Americans look to the president to lead them through crises with a calm demeanor, determination, and decisiveness. Trump did not deliver.Instead, he chose to turn every opportunity to provide assurances into a platform for vilifying the media, blaming the democrats, and aggrandizing himself. What vague reassurances he offered were not intended to calm the public as much as to avoid ruffling the stock market’s feathers. It didn’t work. Trump’s refusal to acknowledge the threat until late in the game may have actually caused the panic on Wall Street. The business-as-usual attitude may have intended to calm fears, but when the rest of the world is rushing to contain and mitigate the spread of the virus, some might see it as sticking one’s head in the sand, waiting for the threat to pass. Not exactly a model of decisive action.
Not surprisingly, Trump’s view of what we’re facing is out of sync with reality. While Democrats worked toward pushing through an emergency economic package to help those forced to stay away from their paying jobs, Trump pushed for a payroll tax break. Not at all useful, because you have to be paid – which means you have to work – in order to get the benefit. He explained his rationale to Republican senators, “… so taxes don’t go back up before voters decide whether to return him to office.” said, President Trump. The stimulus package that the White House is putting together is reportedly going to cost around $700 billion – on par with the Wall Street bailout of 2008 and the Recovery Act of 2009. This package is aimed at corporations, including the hotel industry, which considering that he still profits from his hotels, creates more evidence of his conflict of interest.
The Trump Administration’s anti-science stance is also reflected in its response to the COVID-19 threat. Over the last 3 years, Trump Republicans have gone out of their way to discredit evidence-based science. Budgets for research and public education were slashed, seriously hobbling the CDC in its efforts to create accurate tests and effective solutions. His willful ignorance of how science works was laid out for all to see at his visit to the CDC on Friday. He failed to grasp the simple concept that drugs cannot be created overnight. Getting medicine from the lab to the drug cabinet takes painstaking research, experimentation with consistent results, and clinical trials. All of which require money… money that Trump took away back in 2017.
Exemplified by his own tweet, Trump is fiddling, while all around him the flames get higher.
Whether it’s on my newsfeed or on TV, every hour brings new developments and criticisms about the handling of the COVID-19 crisis. Even my 6-year-old has an opinion on it. Besides reliable information and statistics, I see jokes, memes, and videos making fun of the apocalyptic situation in Italy, Iran or China. However, amidst the flow of information and hoaxes, a pattern emerges: we should take care of one another, and especially of the elderly.
It’s clearly established that those at risk are older people or those who have serious health issues such as cardiac or lung problems or a weakened immune system. Some say it’s just good sense, but when you think about it, other pandemics and outbreaks didn’t quite resonate like this one. Whether it’s bird flu or swine flu, SARS or the measles, in unvaccinated communities, these epidemics didn’t get the same media coverage and level of anxiety worldwide. Why is that?
Adults care for themselves, parents for their children and babies… but who cares for the old? How many isolated senior citizens pass away unnoticed for weeks or months? Each summer, authorities warn them to drink enough and reach out if needed during heatwaves. At Christmas, charities organize dinners for the lonely. In some cultures, such as in China, the elderly are highly respected and unlike in many western countries, they aren’t parked in nursing/retirement homes as soon as they show signs of dependence or senility. Conversely, they are honored and cared for at home by their own children who become at the same time parents and caregivers.
This may explain why many people feel this crisis is different: it is lethal almost exclusively to the ones whom we didn’t think needed protection. As a rule, everybody acknowledges a new-born is vulnerable and must be shielded from threats such as viruses. But people also tend to think that the elderly can take care of themselves and are experienced enough to avoid risk-taking when it comes to their fallible health. Unfortunately, that is not the case and right now what someone may deem a simple cough or a little temperature can wipe out your lovely granny and your funny grandpa. Even if it may be consoling to think that it is in the order of things, they may still have good years ahead of them to enjoy their family and to make the most of this much-awaited time to themselves after working hard and raising a family.
On a personal level, I still have one grandmother and she deserves long years of leisure and serenity after enough hardships. Some of my colleagues are close to retirement and my parents are in their 60s. To those who laugh this off pandemic by thinking it is natural selection, I hope they have considered who they put at risk, even more so within their own family circle.
Count your blessings and respect safety measures, listen to health professionals and remember that optimistically, one day, you will be the elderly person hoping people still acknowledge and value your existence.
Like millions of fans, Kobe’s death affected me more than I thought it would. I didn’t know him, I wasn’t even a Lakers fan, but I respected him greatly. His preparation, his tenacity to compete, and his attention to detail made me root for him even when he was playing against my team.
As a Black male, I found myself in a weird place trying to understand why I couldn’t stop thinking about Kobe and Gianna and the rest of his family who was left behind to cope with his tragic loss. We’re taught at a very young age, directly and indirectly, that showing emotions is a sign of weakness. Under no circumstances do you cry or let others see you cry. But when Kobe died, people witnessed some of the world’s most notable Black men cry and show emotions. It was tough to watch because you could tell many of them tried to hold back the tears, and literally could not. The no crying rule in public had been broken. Sad because a man and his daughter died as well as 7 others in a horrific accident, but beautiful because it humanized Black men in a world that often strips them of their humanity.
But society continues to reinforce that crying, especially in public, is a negative attribute in every way possible. Combined with America’s fascination with sports… we don’t give our athletes time or space to show emotions, to live outside of their respective sport(s); and if you’re an NBA or NFL fan, chances are the subjects of such reinforcement are young Black men.
While the world witnessed notable Black men crying for weeks after the news broke and at the memorial service, they probably didn’t think much of it. But millions of Black men saw those same tears and raw emotions and realized it’s ok to do the same. And that’s a huge win for their long-term mental health, and ultimately their families and communities.I probably won’t immediately start crying the next time I’m hit with tragic news, but if it hits me hard… I now know it’s ok to do so. If WebMD and other studies are correct regarding crying helping our mental health, then by not doing so would do the exact opposite. Compound that by decades and decades of not crying, and you can imagine the negative impact and toll it can take on someone’s mental health and the communities they live in.
Most change isn’t easy, but most change is good, and inevitable.
We all wish Kobe and Gianna were still here. But if through Kobe’s tragic departure millions of Black men can realize that showing emotion is a strength and not a weakness, then Kobe might’ve made his biggest impact of all, and it had nothing to do with basketball.
There’s been a lot of debate about how many journalists have chosen to focus on Kobe’s 2003 rape allegation just moments after the news broke about him and his daughter dying in a helicopter crash on the morning of Sunday, January 26, 2020.
That same afternoon, Felicia Sonmez, a political reporter for the Washington Post, tweeted a 2016 Daily Beast article entitled, “Kobe Bryant’s Disturbing Rape Case: The DNA Evidence, the Accuser’s Story, and the Half-Confession.” People were outraged and quick responded to her tweet. Sonmez deleted her initial tweet but the damage had already been done.
Tracy Grant, a managing editor at The Washington Post, released a statement on Monday (1/27):
“Sonmez was placed on administrative leave while The Post reviews whether tweets about the death of Kobe Bryant violated The Post newsroom’s social media policy… the tweets displayed poor judgment that undermined the work of her colleagues.”
Did she display poor judgement?
Perhaps Lindsey Granger (below), a former journalist and current talk show host from the Daily Blast Live, offers a much-needed perspective on the role journalists should play in the immediate aftermath of such a conflicting and tragic incident.
Why do we believe what we believe – and how do we know we believe it? This may sound overly simplistic, and I certainly do not intend for this to cause offense, but merely wish to state clearly that which is on my mind. In short, there are things which are both complex and complicated. These things require knowledge to form a position, or to verify that the positions we have already identified in ourselves are valid ones. And to that purpose, in steps a philosopher.
Epistemology is a philosophical process. It is the investigation of the foundations of our beliefs to determine if they are justified ones, or rather just opinions we have elevated to moral certainties. Epistemology comes from two Greek words “episteme” (knowledge) and “logos” (reason). There exist a plethora of matters where your answer is instinctively known to you. To explain to others how or why you came to your answer; however, that is the rub. That is also the step where we are most known to fudge a little because while it is most certainly hard to be honest with other people, it is often hardest to be honest with ourselves. To be honest with ourselves we have to decide whether the pool of knowledge upon which we have based our opinions is a valid foundation. If we are to do that honestly, we have to answer these questions about our knowledge: what does it truly mean to know anything, how much can any human being know, and what does the sum of human knowledge look like?
There are different kinds of knowledge. When a philosopher uses the word knowledge he or she strictly means that you know something is factually true. This is called factive knowledge. You know the Earth is round – or you should anyway. You can factively know how to perform or accomplish a task, such as how to bake biscuits (procedural knowledge). Or, you can factively know a human being, such as knowing your cousin James. You can factively know all kinds of things that are of no concern to a serious philosopher.
What an Epistemologist wants to know, study, and express, is called propositional knowledge. Propositional knowledge is something that describes, or purports to describe, what is in a declarative manner. For example, George W. Bush is a Republican; the Earth is round; it is immoral to value one human life more than another; it is unethical to separate children from their parents.
What kind of knowledge is required for ethical decisions? If you are a person of faith and are asked if you believe in God, your answer is easily come by: yes. If asked why or to otherwise discuss the intricacies of your faith, you would gladly concede that it is a complex matter. You would struggle in a discussion with the non-believer to prove that you have a justified basis for your belief system. Whether you love your spouse, whether you are for or against the death penalty, how you believe we should treat the homeless, whether or not you’re a capitalist these are things you know, and they are expressions of your value system. The expression of this kind of knowledge is most valuable to politicians too, because they use it to seek to align themselves with your value expressions.
Epistemologists need to know whether the truth about a particular issue can or cannot be known by any human, or you, or all humans. Then they would need to know if, were it possible to know a truth, we do know that truth. Philosophers also need to know if knowledge can be obtained without experience, using only reason (a priori knowledge), or if one must experience a thing to know it (empirical knowledge). Epistemologists make this determination by looking at three conditions: Belief, Truth; and Justification. This is how they examine and know whether you or I know something.
This is not meant to be an overly technical philosophical examination of the basis of ethical decision-making, but merely intended to reframe how we view the various debates we engage in when we are in a socio-political sphere. There is, of course, a branch of Epistemology that asks how a group can know something and how it acquires knowledge. But, for today’s purposes, we will just look at the conditions for knowledge: Belief, Truth, and Justification.
The first condition notes that knowledge is a form of belief. If we do not think about something, we do not believe anything about it. If we do not believe anything about it, we do not possess any knowledge about it. I do not think about how men’s pants fit because I do not wear them. I have no opinions about the issue, I have not considered the issue, neither am I currently thinking about nor entertaining a position on the matter, and I have never done so. I know nothing about the fit of men’s pants because I believe nothing about men’s pants.
Taken to its logical conclusion we could assume that most people do not know anything about 90% of the public policy issues which make up the debates we watch our politicians undertake when they run for office. Most people do not go throughout their daily lives thinking about trade deficits or food stamp policy. But you know what they say about making assumptions.
You see, these beliefs you have in your head that you are actively working through or thinking about, those are only one kind of beliefs: occurrent beliefs. But most of our beliefs are non-occurrent beliefs. These are beliefs which exist somewhere in the static, bred through thousands of years of evolution and nurture. We as human beings are inherently tribal. For thousands of years, we existed and survived in groups as against other tribal groups. This American ideal of the melting pot where we can fight against our impulses to pit “us” v. “them,” is relatively new when measured against the sum total of human history. In our most secret hearts, we still make far too many of our decisions based on tribal instincts.Our tribe tells us what the answer is, how the other side is wrong – and we are all too happy to repeat that answer. Thinking critically can separate you from your social circle and it can thin you out from the herd. That is inherently dangerous. As part of this self-feeding cycle, we do not always reward critical and independent thought. Simultaneously, we do not value or provide people with, the two things they most need to think critically: time and knowledge. Instead, our background non-occurrent beliefs continue unchecked. That is where truth comes in.
You have to believe something to satisfy an Epistemologist’s first condition for knowledge, but that not enough on its own since you can believe something that is not true – lots of people do. The goal of any moral person is to try to amass a set of true beliefs, and discard those which are false. If you cannot satisfy the second condition of knowledge – Truth – you cannot know that thing. If you believe the Earth is flat you are incorrect. We can and do know that such a belief is not so. You cannot actually know the Earth is flat because to know such a thing is not possible in this sense. And if truth is subjective then no one can know anything.
But what if you believe something, and it is true, but you had no rational basis for it – can you really be said to know that thing? According to the third condition of Epistemology – Justification – you cannot. After all, of what good is that “knowledge” if you could not repeat the process to form knowledge again? For a belief you hold to be knowledge, it must be both true and rationally based. The most famous example of this is called the Gettier Problem. If the clock on my desk stopped working at 2:00 am last night, and I did not notice when I came into work, I might later in the day decide to look at it to determine what time I ought to leave for my 2:30 pm appointment. If I were, by pure chance, to look at the clock at 2:00 pm and see the clock flashing 2:00, I would presume it is time to leave and correctly, grab my stuff and walk out the door. But I did not have a rational basis for my true belief that it was 2:00 pm. If I had not looked up then, but instead looked up at 1:15 pm I would have seen the same thing and left early. If I had in the alternative looked up at 3:15 pm, I would have seen the same thing, left, and been very late. All three of these conditions: Belief, Truth, and Justification, must exist for there to be knowledge.
Unless you are a politician.
If you are a politician, you are not really concerned with why we believe what we believe, or if those beliefs are true – you are only interested in how those beliefs might be used to your benefit. There is no benefit in telling the electorate of today that those carefully considered beliefs they hold are untrue, that they; therefore, do not know anything. There is much value; however, in knowing what the electorate believes and believes they know. If you know their beliefs, it is easy to invoke and design reaction. When both sides participate in this unconsidered approach to knowledge, our public discourse devolves from that of an honest and well-intended marketplace of ideas, to a free-for-all that takes place in 180-character punches intended to anger and fear-monger. When our untrue beliefs are reinforced by those in power, it can make them feel true. And if they feel true, and we are told our tribe is reasonable, then they also feel justified, whether they are or not. Now our untrue beliefs have become two things: faux knowledge, and a campaign slogan.
Were a person interested in examples of such things, he or she might take a gander at Texas, where the Governor says he will no longer allow refugees to settle, and the political right does not even bat an eye. They know this is ethical and moral because they believe those people do not belong here, and they know it is true. Thisis obviously perfectly reasonable and consistent with their group position on legal vs. illegal immigration. Amongst themselves, their tribe’s motives no longer need to be questioned – it is clear from the “record” that they are right, well-meaning, and promoting The American Way™.
But how can that be? One of the most common refrains in the immigration debate that we hear from the far right is that they as a group are (and we as a society should also be) “ok” with immigrants, but only when they are legal. “We want legal immigrants,” they say, and, “We just cannot support any policy action that would incentivize people to keep coming here illegally!” They expect that all these great and unwashed masses should “Get In Line!™” Ah – but refugees already have – they are legal immigrants. Somehow, the political right knows that refugees do not belong in Texas, but alsobelieve that legal immigrants belong, and that both such beliefs are true.But they cannot both be true. It would seem then, from the vantage point of intellectual consistency, this action and reaction alike expose the right’s long-held position on immigration reform as one based in racial enmity disguised as a concern for the Rule of Law. I’m not sure it will matter though, if no one cares about knowing, and only about believing.
Over the next few weeks we will cover different aspects of the immigration system, and whether we can know that something is, or is not, the “right thing to do.” No side will be completely blameless in this discussion. Diatribes ring hollow from those who are also complicit in inaction. Most of the harshest accusations of immorality, after all, will come from career politicians from the left who have, over decades of woke compassionate public service, done nothing to better the plight of those they claim to care about. But from all I’ve seen growing up on the border, and later practicing immigration law for 10 years, so many desperate people are being taken advantage of. Their plight gets worse and more desperate and we do not have a plan to fix it. What is more, we do not appear care if we have one. We almost do not even want a plan. Because if we had a plan, if we fixed it, how will we raise money for the election? How can we scare people? How can we prove we are morally superior if we have to first admit our beliefs must be true to know the answer?
If you are the one being talked about, not doing the talking (or the voting), there is little moral difference between Trump and Obama’s Congresses if neither one has helped you. The refugee crisis is not new, and it is not over. Racism against Hispanics and Latinos is a serious problem, but it did not start with the shooting in El Paso, or with Trump, or Obama.We have a compassion problem, and a love of money problem too. Which is worse you might ask – to openly declare racial enmity for a group of people, or to vow to help that group, and then refuse to do so in order that one might have the opportunity to campaign again in 2 years on something solid? The ticket to re-election, after all, is not owning the solution, but owning the promise. That I think, for the unaccompanied minors and families destroyed from excessive and pointless deportations, is a question of degree, not of culpability in general.
Plans are complicated – a lot more complicated than making money off the backs of society’s most vulnerable by running for-profit prisons camps masquerading as shelters. We are importing and exporting misery, and using it as a marketing tool. In the process, we have created a new form of slavery and slave trading. These illegal immigrants we banter about and judge live in our shadows – they have no rights, no recourse, and we get rich off their labor. In the meantime, no one has made the line shorter, or made more lines. We sure do love $4.00 a pound organic strawberries though. No one on either primary stage has made you one iota safer, and no one has helped these poor people – these “least of these.” No one has even bothered to try. Immigration reform is one of those things which is neither complex nor easy. But how we treat immigrants has an easy answer: we treat them as our neighbor, as we would want to be treated. Why? Because they are us. That is a belief, it is true, it is knowable, and can be justified rationally.
We have another belief we know to be true, that we like to say we arrived at after careful rational thought: that we all have God-given rights and that these rights do not come from government nor from our Constitution. Rather these are our natural rights, and our Constitution merely enshrines them. America, we know, is great because it recognizes that concept. There seems to be a new caveat however: non-Americans have fewer rights than we do. All animals are equal. Some animals are more equal than others.
These beliefs cannot be opposite each other and represent knowledge, because they cannot both be true, and cannot both be justified. If you believe both of those things, you do not know anything at all about who belongs here. Insofar as Texas has a governor who claims to be a Christian, but blocks refugee settlement – the settlement of LEGAL immigrants, we also can no longer pretend that we were ever really upset that they did not “Get In Line™ .” We do not have to pretend we were only against illegal immigration, because it can no longer be said to be a true belief. It is a dog whistle. It always was. It was always a way to make some animals more equal than others, and we are not fooling anyone anymore. Except maybe, ourselves.
[This is part two of a three-part series on American gun violence. Read part one here.]
“Man, I’ll tell you this, if your big Black ass ever gets stopped by a cop just lay on the ground and don’t move. I work with them and I know them racists will shoot your Black ass in a heartbeat,” said my childhood friend, a Black NYPD officer, with a chuckle and a swig of a beer one summer night.
Given that they were to write the first governing document for a democracy in the history of the world, the writers of the United States Constitution had a seismic task ahead of them. As this young nation progressed, they decided to update – or amend – the language in the original governing Document.
The Fourteenth Amendment provides the promise of equal protection under the law and the Fifth Amendment provides the promise that restricts the government’s ability to prosecute folks accused of a crime. In short, the Fourteenth Amendment promises fairness and the Fifth Amendment promises order.
You see, these are some of the “promissory notes” that Dr. King referenced in his I Have A Dream speech when he said, “It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked “insufficient funds.” But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt.”
The enforcement of Law in the United States effectively rolls up to the Justice Department which is now overseen by Attorney General, Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III. Why the name Jefferson Beauregard you might ask? Well, because his namesake is derived from Confederate icons, Jefferson Davis (president) and Pierre Gustave Toutant-Beauregard (general). Yes, the same Confederate States that seceded, formed their own government and went to war with the United States to uphold the right to own black human beings as property. I digress; loosely speaking, the Attorney General acts as the top Law Enforcement Officer in the nation and I have a pretty good idea of what his ancestors would think about laws that pertain to my humanity.
So if you dig deeper into my childhood friends cautionary advice, what he was effectively warning me was that because of the color of my skin and the size of my person that law enforcement, backed by the full power of both the Constitutions of the United States and the State of New York, would forego my rights to fairness and order and snatch my life in a heartbeat.
Yet again, my friend’s cautionary advice came to life last week in Sacramento. Stephon Clark was fatally struck by six out of twenty bullets, in his back, while in his grandmother’s backyard. Just as I’ve come to expect, “law enforcement” supporters made repeated the same cold asinine statements:
“If he only would have complied with the officers’ commands.”
“If he only didn’t run.”
“If he only had his hands up.”
“You put on a uniform.”
“It’s a split-second life or death decision on whether or not someone has a gun.”
As we reflect on the fifty years that have passed since Dr. King’s assassination, lets us also remember that not much has changed since April 4, 1968. In the last few weeks, America’s bank of justice returned the promissory notes of Stephon Clark and Alton Sterling marked “insufficient funds.”
From the Attorney General to local Law Enforcement, America continues to remind us that her bank of justice remains bankrupt insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. I pray that my loved ones never receive a promissory note marked “insufficient funds” and that my childhood friend is not a Prophet.
Rest In Power: Stephon Clark, Alton Sterling, and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
A King is omnipotent. He cannot be questioned or challenged.
According to Sun Tzu, exuding supreme confidence is essential for victory; an enemy must never even perceive a chance to win. This is why many Kings project confidence at all times and never apologize.
However, once a King achieves power and influence beyond question or challenge, what happens if he acts or decides in a manner that is self-harming or detrimental to himself or his Kingdom? The Court Jester was a mechanism to perhaps mitigate such a situation.
An expert Court Jester could point out flaws of the King or the King’s Court in a humorous, seemingly innocuous manner, never earning the ire or Axe of the king. In this way, problems could be at least addressed, possibly considered, and at best resolved. It was a form of therapy for such a precarious system of governing, particularly for the laborers and peasants who were unable to express any malcontent with their monarch.
Although Kings have mostly disappeared from the world and been replaced by more Democratic systems of rule (at least in appearance), there still remains the archetype of “Kingship” mostly in the realm of the rich and famous.
Specifically in the art world, when these modern Kings rise to the level of unquestioned and unchallenged behavior, they can often do the most damage, particularly to themselves. Consider Elvis (The King), Michael Jackson (The King of Pop), and Prince (uhhhh… Prince) who all died of drug overdoses at some point after they rose to levels of wealth and power at which nobody could tell them, “No.”
So if Hollywood is the King of Pop Culture right now, Ricky Gervais is Hollywood’s Court Jester.
His monologue at the Golden Globes was everything that most of America would like to say to these “royal” people who are admired, powerful, talented, and beyond question or challenge, but cannot.
I personally loved every bit of his monologue and found none of it offensive (although none of it was directed at me, I admit). Nonetheless, I think we need Ricky Gervais more than ever right now, particularly when most of the country feels powerless and held hostage to the extremes of the Right and Left.
No movement, however virtuous, is infallible. If an idea or group is unable to be criticized or questioned, then that group is essentially invincible (like the King) and could ultimately use this power malignantly. The very idea of “untouchable” or “beyond reproach” is what someone like Ricky Gervais fights against. This explains why he has upset members of the LGBTQ community in his career as he has lambasted them along with every other group in existence.
To empathize with Mr. Gervais, I would agree that you have not truly earned equal rights until you can be ridiculed freely as the rest of us are. That’s why the term is “equal” rights and not “more than” rights.
So, for anyone who may have been offended by the Golden Globes monologue last weekend, let me go over his jokes a little for your consideration. Maybe this will help illuminate the necessity of such a Jester in our current socio-political climate.
I will also give Mr. Gervais a bit of criticism as well which, if you read his Twitter Account, he welcomes enthusiastically even going so far as to retweet bad reviews of himself or his shows; lest he ever becomes anything like the “King” he is currently so adept at criticizing.
Ricky’s jokes followed by my commentary:
Kevin Hart was fired from the Oscars for some offensive tweets — hello?
Pointing at himself, Gervais seems to question the double standard of preventing a black man from hosting an award show on account of anti-LGBTQ content, when a white man can post incredibly incendiary content and still host.
Maybe NBC is just braver than ABC – or more hungry for those controversy ratings?
Or maybe there is a stronger degree of wrongdoing by Hart who seemed to express genuinely anti-gay sentiments while Gervais simply ridicules LGBTQ out of the principle that everyone deserves to be ridiculed and nobody is above a joke, particularly when it comes from a place of inclusion and not malice?
Lucky for me, the Hollywood Foreign Press can barely speak English and they’ve no idea what Twitter is, so I got offered this gig by fax.
Obviously, he’s coming up with an outlandish explanation for why he was chosen to host in spite of his provocative Twitter comments and pretending that the HFP, who all live in Southern California, are literally Foreign and can’t speak English.
Let’s go out with a bang, let’s have a laugh at your expense.
Yes, surely the most privileged people in the world can be the butt of a joke.
Remember, they’re just jokes. We’re all gonna die soon and there’s no sequel, so remember that.
Characteristic Gervais throwing a bit of his atheism into it.
But you all look lovely all dolled up. You came here in your limos. I came here in a limo tonight and the license plate was made by Felicity Huffman.
The ultimate symbol of White Privilege finally facing justice. How could this crowd defend her?
No, shush. It’s her daughter I feel sorry for. OK? That must be the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to her. And her dad was in Wild Hogs.
While it is low-hanging fruit-making fun of an actor in a bad movie, it’s still funny to wonder who the daughter considers a worse parent: the one in jail or the one in a horrible film?
Lots of big celebrities here tonight. Legends. Icons. This table alone — Al Pacino, Robert DeNiro … Baby Yoda. Oh, that’s Joe Pesci, sorry. I love you man. Don’t have me whacked.
Appearance-mockery and pop culture reference in one joke… not very funny to me, but worked well enough for his crowd.
But tonight isn’t just about the people in front of the camera. In this room are some of the most important TV and film executives in the world. People from every background. They all have one thing in common: They’re all terrified of Ronan Farrow. He’s coming for ya.
Nervous laughter. Yeah, Farrow doesn’t mess around. He is out to shine light on the cockroaches of society and Hollywood is having its turn.
Talking of all you perverts, it was a big year for pedophile movies. Surviving R. Kelly, Leaving Neverland, Two Popes. Shut up. Shut up. I don’t care. I don’t care.
Even Catholics can’t escape the shadow of thousands – THOUSANDS – of covered up child molestation cases in just the last century alone. This is speaking truth to power and it’s not actually funny except that it’s David attacking Goliath so brazenly right in front of the Philistines.
This was the innocent child yelling: “The Emperor has no clothes!!!”
Many talented people of color were snubbed in major categories. Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do about that. Hollywood Foreign Press are all very racist.
They are all international journalists.
We were going to do an In Memoriam this year, but when I saw the list of people who died, it wasn’t diverse enough. No, it was mostly white people and I thought, nah, not on my watch. Maybe next year. Let’s see what happens.
Increasing diversity in film has been one of the greatest achievements of this last decade. Black Panther alone will do more for young black kids who want to fantasize about themselves as the hero and aspire to be greater than any token character of the last century.
However, as Bill Burr labels it, “Overcorrection” can happen.
This joke simply warns about trying to apply the morality of “ensuring diversity” to every aspect of every part of the industry (like the In Memoriam).
I imagine a film about the Harlem Globetrotters will probably not require a quota of x amount of Asian, Hispanic, Middle Eastern, and White actors to play the roles of historically Black athletes from one of the most famously Black areas of the country.
No one cares about movies anymore. No one goes to cinema, no one really watches network TV. Everyone is watching Netflix. This show should just be me coming out, going, “Well done Netflix. You win everything. Good night.” But no, we got to drag it out for three hours.
Poignant. True.
You could binge-watch the entire first season of Afterlife instead of watching this show. That’s a show about a man who wants to kill himself ’cause his wife dies of cancer and it’s still more fun than this.
Shameless plug.
Spoiler alert, season two is on the way so in the end he obviously didn’t kill himself. Just like Jeffrey Epstein. Shut up. I know he’s your friend but I don’t care.
Hilarious. True. I wonder how many in this room have been to his island or on his plane.
Seriously, most films are awful. Lazy. Remakes, sequels. I’ve heard a rumor there might be a sequel to Sophie’s Choice. I mean, that would just be Meryl just going, “Well, it’s gotta be this one then.”
Low hanging fruit. It worked. Good for levity – which was surprisingly needed in such a brutally damning monologue.
All the best actors have jumped to Netflix, HBO. And the actors who just do Hollywood movies now do fantasy-adventure nonsense. They wear masks and capes and really tight costumes. Their job isn’t acting anymore. It’s going to the gym twice a day and taking steroids, really. Have we got an award for most ripped junky? No point, we’d know who’d win that.
I still don’t know who he means by this. Also, I whole-heartedly disagree with him and Scorsese about this. These superhero movies are for kids. Netflix is killing the budgets and demands for original, well-made quality movies in big theaters, not superhero movies.
Martin Scorsese made the news for his controversial comments about the Marvel franchise. He said they’re not real cinema and they remind him about theme parks.
Ha. I know my children will all watch Goodfellas, Taxi Driver, Gangs of New York, and Shutter Island on repeat until they are 16 and old enough for Marvel Movies.
I agree. Although I don’t know what he’s doing hanging around theme parks. He’s not big enough to go on the rides. He’s tiny.
A size joke is seemingly juvenile… but so is picking on kid’s movies when you are the greatest living director! So, well done.
The Irishman was amazing. It was amazing. It was great. Long, but amazing. It wasn’t the only epic movie. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, nearly three hours long. Leonardo DiCaprio attended the premiere and by the end, his date was too old for him. Even Prince Andrew was like, “Come on, Leo, mate. You’re nearly 50-something.”
Low hanging fruit, again.
The world got to see James Corden as a fat pussy. He was also in the movie Cats.
Gervais really seems to hate Corden, at least in his comedy. After Life (which is pure brilliance) lambasts Corden also. I often find this problem with extremely intellectual people: they tend to cynically and inaccurately portray the heavily visceral artists and performers. It’s the “Lennon is great and McCartney sucks!” people.
There are a lot of colors in the rainbow, Ricky. What you may consider banal is often just a conduit for energy. Sometimes, “How’s the weather?” conversations are one person really just saying, “I care about you and just want to make sounds in your direction.” Go to a Coldplay concert. It’s beautiful in a different way from Tom Waits or Frank Zappa. Hierarchies are for fascists.
No one saw that movie (Cats). And the reviews, shocking. I saw one that said, “This is the worst thing to happen to cats since dogs.” But Dame Judi Dench defended the film saying it was the film she was born to play because she loves nothing better than plunking herself down on the carpet, lifting her leg and licking her minge. (Coughs.) Hairball. She’s old-school.
Now, it would have been even more outrageous and absurd if Mr. Gervais had this level of obscene mockery directed at Meryl Streep who was in the room, but Dame Judy Dench was a fine target for the harshest roast of the night.
Apple roared into the TV game with The Morning Show, a superb drama about the importance of dignity and doing the right thing, made by a company that runs sweatshops in China. Well, you say you’re woke but the companies you work for in China — unbelievable. Apple, Amazon, Disney. If ISIS started a streaming service you’d call your agent, wouldn’t you?
Dead on. Truth to power. Thank you, Ricky Gervais.
So if you do win an award tonight, don’t use it as a platform to make a political speech. You’re in no position to lecture the public about anything. You know nothing about the real world. Most of you spent less time in school than Greta Thunberg.
So if you win, come up, accept your little award, thank your agent, and your God and fuck off, OK?
This kind of sums up the mentality of most Americans and touches on why Trump won the election. They don’t trust Democrats or the Hollywood elite who are so clearly hypocrites.
Most Americans love Hollywood and what it has done for the world, but if it wants to remain King, it must listen to its Court Jester: Mr. Ricky Gervais.
Watch the entire 2020 Golden Globes by Ricky Gervais:
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