POWER OF LOVE: PART I

by with One Comment CultureFeatured

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.)

MORE THAN ENOUGH.

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.

Power of Love, to be continued…

Similar Read: POWER OF LOVE: PART II

Similar Read: Music Is Life

The Myth of the Line: The Dog Whistle in the Immigration Debate

by with No Comment CultureFeaturedPolitics

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.  This is 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 also believe 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. 

Christchurch and the Ignorant Crusade

by with No Comment FeaturedGlobalRace Relations

“Welcome, Brother.” These were the last words of the first victim in the line of 50 other victims who would be killed in the Christchurch massacre. Brenton Harris Tarrant, who is currently the only suspect in the barbaric killings, sent an 87-page manifesto to the Prime Minister of New Zealand moments before committing himself to a long line of terrorists, whose sole purpose in this world is to sow discord and create chaos. 

He streamed the killing live on Facebook, utilizing a feature we all use for showcasing funny cat and dog videos, birthday celebrations, or surprise engagement proposals. He used a feature that was meant to connect people in far away distances and bring them together, to showcase his hatred, rage, and intolerance of a specific religion, and its people.

Some of his victims had escaped war, genocide, persecution, and political discourse. Some of his victims were children, coming to their house of God with their loved ones, eager to show their devotion and then hopefully be able to play or spend time with their families afterwards. Some of his victims showed bravery in the line of fire. They were protecting their sons, and daughters, and strangers. They were facing the ultimate test of being courageous and paying for it with the highest asset they had – their lives.

Support has been outpouring for this tragedy, with the Prime Minister of New Zealand showing real leadership, by donning a hijab as a sign of respect and mourning, to paying for all 51 funerals and financially supporting the families of the victims for as long as they need.

However, at some point, I ask myself is this indeed enough? What the Prime Minister is doing and how the world feels outraged and disgusted is a good sign, a great sign that unity is slowly finding its way against the tide of hatred and injustice once more, but the question remains… is it enough?

We go through these spells, don’t we? Every decade or so, there is a monumental struggle between ideologies, religions, belief systems, or perceptions, that cause the loss of life for so many, only to prove what?

A point? Is anyone genuinely victorious when the death of innocent are involved? When we live out our lives, doing our best to be successful, and happy, and safe in this world, is it enough to “give our thoughts and prayers” to these situations, and their victims?

Are we doing enough? Collectively as a society? 

I do not have the answer to this question, and maybe that’s because I have become so numb from screaming out my frustrations to anyone and everyone who will hear me.

I have exhausted myself from seeing another group of people cruelly gunned down for their beliefs, race, or perceptions.

Exhausted of seeing individuals defend terrorists by claiming there was no outpouring support when another tragedy occurred on this date, at this time, or this place. Tired of the political manipulations and control the so-called leaders of the western world and its media try to spin to get our attention and dictate the narrative.

I am tired of seeing innocent people torn apart because of blatant ignorance and hatred. Tired of having to continually view the media and the joke of leadership we have in this country criticize individuals for who they are, what they wear, how they wear it, gender, sexuality, the color of their skin, the faith they belong to, the geographical location they hail from.

Whatever you believe in, or don’t understand, whatever you align yourself with politically, or don’t align to… remember this, our planet is on the brink of natural disasters changing the very landscape of which we live in, fanaticism and fascism are on the rise and threaten to overcome all sensibility and logic around the world, and the gap of wealth and development is widening at an alarming rate.   

We are the generation that will define what it means to be human. Whether we want that responsibility or not. We who live in this time and era will collectively define our mark on this planet. 

Similar Read: History and the Christchurch Massacre

Sports and Religion… Eagles Redefine Faith

by with 8 Comments FeaturedSports

If you haven’t noticed, the Philadelphia Eagles are not shy about thanking who they feel is most responsible for their athletic ability and team success. Whether you’re a religious person or not, it’s hard to push back on their collective sentiment considering their season ultimately ended with them defeating the favored New England Patriots in Super Bowl 52 (2/4/18).

Coaches, trainers, teammates, parents, the list goes on of who athletes usually thank first whenever a mic is shoved in their face after a big game. But not these Eagles… that first breath is reserved for their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, which was the common (genuine) theme you heard over and over after winning Philadelphia’s first pro football championship in more than 50 years.

You often hear a pro athlete here or there thank the Lord for their on-field success, but the Philadelphia Eagles all seem to be on the same page. Almost like political pundits sent out with their talking points prepared to answer contentious questions on the Sunday morning talk shows, they didn’t skip a beat. Do a little digging and you quickly find out this isn’t just for show. A majority of players attend weekly Bible class, and many of them were baptized over the past year like Marcus D. Johnson.

“Last night I took another step forward in my faith. First time being baptized, and it wouldn’t have been possible withouth these group of MEN in this picture. Corporate worship is a beautiful thing!! Cleansed and reborn in Jesus name!!” – Marcus D. Johnson, Eagles Wide Reciever, (featured image above was posted by Marcus on his Instagram account: @mojomdj with this caption on October 12th, 2017) His picture garnered 4,600+ likes and nearly 300 comments.

“I wouldn’t be out here without God, without Jesus in my life… Unbelievable. All glory to God.” – Nick Foles, Eagles Quarterback, Super Bowl 52 MVP

Evangelicals, many of whom publicly support President Trump, have also been quick to publicly support the Philadelphia Eagles for their strong faith and Christianity. However, after the Super Bowl, many of these religious God-fearing Eagles quickly stated that they would not be attending the White House for the traditional visit. We’ll see if Evangelical support dwindles considering the White House will likely respond as time passes.

Either way, a quote from Tight End Zach Ertz might sum up the Eagles potential impact on millions of people around the world who have been questioning their faith.

“…faith and football this Sunday is huge. This is a platform to draw people to the Word, to Jesus. It’s not something we take for granted by any means.” – Zach Ertz, Eagles Tight End

Whether you’re a super religious person or not, it’s safe to say many people are probably re-examining their faith because of the Eagle’s willingness to publicly state how strong theirs is, and it’s hard to argue that’s not a good thing.

Similar read: Eagles Decline the White House

Your Opinion, Please LEAVE Home Without It

by with No Comment Uncategorized

On June 26, 2015, my birthday by the way (shameless plug I know), the United States Supreme Court decided to amend the US Constitution and grant same-sex couples the right to marry. I think it’s important to note that this decision was made despite the United States Supreme Court being headed by Chief Justice John Roberts, who was a George W Bush appointee and very conservative. Even if a particular state did not have gay marriage, all states had to recognize gay marriage. In its aftermath, contrary to the opposition belief, civilization and traditional marriage hasn’t faltered in the two years since the Supreme Court decision. Despite the world turning out just fine, some people’s opinion on the idea of legalized same sex marriage is an issue that must take precedence over stuff that actually matters. Unfortunately, those same people have real power and influence.  

On Friday June 30, a mere two years and a few days removed from the watershed Supreme Court decision, the nine-member Texas Supreme Court unanimously reversed a lower court’s ruling favoring the city of Houston’s decision to extend health and life insurance benefits to the spouses of city employees in same-sex marriages. The court ordered the case sent back to the trial court in Houston. In summary, the Texas Supreme Court said that while same-sex marriage is legal, the reach and ramifications of the rights of gay couples have yet to be determined. Whatever that means. Here’s the thing, if the United States Supreme Court states same-sex couples have the right to marry, that would mean there aren’t any contingencies. Right? So what is the issue?

I can tell you. Sexual orientation and the opposition to it in any fashion is usually wrapped in someone’s “faith”. I really don’t buy that, I think its pure bigotry, but I’ll go with “faith” for the sake of argument. Even still, that’s your opinion. Your faith is your own theological taking, not the worlds. More importantly, no one should suffer or have their life altered because of your faith, especially when those alterations come via the hands of the government. There are real world consequences when someone’s benefits are altered.

A common phrase people throw around when stating off the wall political references is “well it’s just my opinion”. No it’s not just an opinion. An opinion is Pepsi or Coke. LeBron or Jordan. Nas or Jay Z. A political opinion is a DECISION, its impactful, it’s alerting. A kneejerk political opinion has real world consequences. In our country, political opinions have gone unchecked, more extreme, polarizing, and caused national issues to become stagnate.  

A viewpoint and an opinion is worthless when a same sex couple walks into a doctor’s office in Houston next week and unbeknownst to them, their coverage is frozen and they have to pay out of pocket. That $250 out of pocket cost now causes them to be able to get a part on their car fix, and have to only use one car. And then and then and then (in my “Dude where’s my car” voice), but in all seriousness, one unneeded decision on the part of the Texas Supreme Court alters countless lives. For what? There’s nothing wrong with having an ideology, we all have them. From taxes to foreign aid, we must have different viewpoints to have lively debates and discussions. There’s something very dangerous when that ideology becomes fixated on stances that are non-secular, separatist, denies access to services, and quite frankly wastes time.