Don’t miss! Diy music fest in Murfreesboro TN. Here are two versions of the postah
Biker illustration by Mo Overholt
Blue Oval City
Quick update about this social and environmental justice issue happening in Tennessee:
Relatedly, I just started watching the show Dark last night, here’re a couple stills:
Whiteness and Strategy
In 2023, during the special session to address the deadly gun culture in Tennessee, there was a particular house committee wherein multiple women were escorted out by state troopers for silently holding small signs in protest. I feel honored to have been in the same room as these women, and to have been able to witness the historic day (tho also ashamed for not standing with them when it counted). Here’s that story in Newsweek.
There were multiple groups represented in the audience (there’s a more official word for this but can’t locate it at the moment), and I think it’s fair to say that each held a different strategy or no strategy and certainly different philosophies concerning protest and action - though, at the end of the day, I hope it’s accurate to say we were all on the same team. A short time after the women were escorted out and everyone else warned to keep quiet and follow the authoritarian rules, the rest of the chamber was cleared for a “disruption.”
As people filed out, visibly upset and in a fog of disbelief, one white woman who was with the Covenant School turned to confront - finger pointed - one of the only Black women in the entire space, a protestor and activist who was not with the Covenant group. The white woman yelled “did you do this?” at short range, alluding to the unknown reason for the room being cleared. The packed hallway went nearly silent, with reporters and protestors and staffers unsure of what was going on. I was one of the closest people to both individuals, standing almost directly between them, I was also shocked at the sudden eruption. What I remember is the Covenant parent - who for good reason was escalated and emotional, but very, very obviously directing her rage at the wrong person - repeated this phrase, and only backed off when another parent attempted to walk her away. I turned to the woman she had yelled at (an activist I respect and knew of from previous direct actions) and offered an encouragement similar to “she needs to focus that energy on the men who made these arbitrary rules,” but it was too little too late. Why hadn’t I attempted to redirect the white woman’s attention to the GOP rule-makers? In that moment I allowed her to weaponize her tears, her own trauma, against a Black woman. It was messy, it was layers of harm and privilege and trauma and injustice and racism. And ultimately, I think, it showed how patriarchy and white supremacy hurts everyone. It divides and conquers.
That moment might have fueled more internal hopelessness and grief than anything else that happened that week. It was my own fear made manifest - that white women could not be trusted in this sort of fight for ultimate human thriving, that when push comes to shove a white woman’s interest is in somehow propping up white supremacy, in this case taking the form of treating a Black woman as a scapegoat. How can a moment like this be recovered? It cannot be. It can only be grieved as compounding trauma, and shouldn’t be swept under the rug or shushed-away, it has to be acknowledged and pointed at as proof of the work that still needs to be done. Whiteness is a curse in its self-centeredness, in its lack of empathy, in its fear of other and desire for possession and control. Maybe, too, it’s a fear of loss of perceieved possession and control.
-
I didn’t address the thing of strategy to the extent that I wanted to, and I hope the rest of this makes some sort of sense. I mostly wanted to write down what I witnessed and felt that day. I might revisit if I can.
Late stage empathy
The last time I visited my grandpa he thought I was a man who was “dressed sharp.” That felt kind of nice. I can recall twice in my life where he’s spoken aloud, to anyone who was around, that his first adopted family didn’t want him, he was taken back to the orphanage. This happened before he was two. I think about this a lot in the context of his adult life, his problem with control, how he wouldn’t allow my grandma to go shopping or hang out with friends without his permission. I remember driving them and my narcoleptic, racist great aunt (rip. White people: how does one grieve the loss of a racist relative?) to Colorado, which was something of an adventure, and also contained the first time I blew up on him after his constant verbal assault on my grandma. He cried, he swore he would try to do better, he never did. Can empathy change shape when a person like this, like my grandpa, requires constant care and attention in his remaining years? Is it a question of “deserving” empathy?
-
There is something like hope, mixed with a vision for a better now, mixed with something like rage, that has me convinced to stick around driving a bus for a city whose leadership does not like public transit. Or poor people. I don’t know what late stage empathy really means, maybe it’s more a feeling of “there’s gotta be change soon, right? ..right??” I share this because- in the midst of all the horrifying things going on on a global and national scale- it’s feeling like an endless struggle uphill to get a safe and accessible and efficient system going that helps people to thrive, but so far one accessible bus stop has been installed out of the struggle. And I’m proud of that. Even if they took the benches out first. Anyway. This image is something of a placeholder and memorial and fuel to keep pushing for good change and a “never stop caring” attitude, no matter what the future holds.
