Let’s Do Better – Page 5

July 31, 2016

Grieving Parents and Politics: Exploitation all Around

American politics have hit a new low. Relying on grieving parents who bare their hearts, their sorrows, their souls in front of cheering delegates swathed in red, white, and blue, both Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump are both guilty of exploiting the grief of parents of American heroes to raise their poll numbers. As a grieving parent myself, I watch, disgusted and enraged and torn.

During the Republican National Convention, Patricia Smith addressed the delegates, angry and sad, telling the world she holds Hillary Clinton personally responsible for the death of her son, Sean Smith, who perished in the attack on the U.S. Embassy in Bengazhi. She called for Hillary to be put in prison and “wear stripes” for her crimes against America.

Last week we saw the parents of Captain Humayun Khan, a Muslim American soldier who perished in Iraq while protecting his fellow soldiers, address the delegates at the Democratic National Convention. Captain Khan’s father, Khizr Khan, gave an impassioned speech, indignant and angry, accompanied by his wife, telling the world that Donald Trump has never sacrificed for his country and offered him a pocket copy of our Constitution for his edification.

Left, Patricia Smith, mother of Sean Smith. Upper right, Ghazala Khan, mother of Captain Humayun Khan. Lower right, Khizr Khan, father of Captain Kahn.

Is one parent’s grief more potent than the others? Can a parent’s grief be devalued, depending on if you identify as Republican or Democrat? How can we knowingly and willingly leverage the grief associated with Americans killed while serving their country abroad? Will these speeches result in votes?

I am torn because as someone who grieves a child, I know full well the lengths I will go to to tell my child’s story, to ensure she is not forgotten, to share her name and her image in the hopes that her life meant something. I have willingly and proudly addressed all manner of audiences, from 5 to 500, when given the opportunity to discuss my daughter and the woeful underfunding of pediatric cancer research in America. Hell, had Hillary or Donald called me up to tell my girl’s story at their convention, well, I am certain I would have said yes, if they promised to champion my cause.

The grief of these three parents is something I recognize and understand. Their anger, their invisible wounds, their need to say their child’s name out loud, tell their story, see the tears in stranger’s eyes as they learn, for the first time, of the child they raised and cared for who left them too soon. I get it. I get all of it. I understand their motivations and I cast no judgment.

But even so, I shrink at the sight of the delegates, Republican and Democrats, filled with the fever of their chosen candidate, cheering at the words of these parents. The anger associated with grief, because, well, there is always anger, is welcomed, cheered on, clapped for, validated. The cameras cut away to the delegates, moved, of course, tears running down their cheeks. GO, DONALD! GO, HILLARY!

Then, of course, there is the parade of endless talking heads going on about how mobilized the crowd was by Patricia Smith’s calls for Hillary to be locked up. How effective it was for a grieving mother to personally cast blame on the Democratic nominee for the death of her son. This is political gold, people! Then we have Mr. Khan and his silent wife. Trump, of course, unable to stop himself, digs a deepening hole by suggesting Captain Khan’s grieving mother is silenced against her wishes because of her Muslim faith. Cue the outrage! Cue the interviews! Hillary has scored some major political currency with this couple!

The delegates are pawns, of course, just as these grieving parents are, just as the talking heads are, just as the American voter is. We are all chips in an impressive game of votes and power called the American Political System.

Sean Smith and Captain Humayun Khan. I honor their service and their sacrifice.

As a grieving parent, what I keep coming back to are the men lost in service to America. Sean Smith and Captain Humayun Khan lived and died in service to all of us. They left behind families and futures unfulfilled. I cannot help but wonder what they might think has come of their sacrifice — the cheering crowds, the talking heads, the divided nation.

May they rest in the peace that eludes America today.

July 12, 2016

When Your Seven Year Old Asks If Slavery Is Still a Problem in America

This has been a difficult set of days in America. It started with back to back point blank lethal shootings of two African American men by police officers last week. On the heels of that, a sniper in Dallas killed five police officers while wounding seven others during a protest rally organized against the first two killings. Like many Americans I have been feeling helpless, hopeless, stunned, and, yes, a bit paralyzed by my privilege.

When the phone rang Friday morning with an invitation to head to the beach with my boys on a warm summer day, I gladly accepted. The blue sky, the white clouds, the warm water, the golden sand, families of all shapes and sizes playing and relaxing — it all added up to the balm I needed. It’s pathetic, really, that even as an insulated white lady, I still sought respite from the racial storm that is America these days. My thoughts kept returning to people of color that don’t get to feel better or restored with a trip to the beach because racism follows them everywhere.

In the car on the way home, totally out of the blue, my seven year old asked from the back seat of the car, “Mom, is slavery still a problem in America?” Whoa. Where did that come from? I quickly determined that he was referring to the slavery he knows about. The slavery that propelled our country into civil war 155 years ago. The slavery that he has read about in children’s books his liberal parents make certain find their way onto his bookshelves.

Illustration from the children's book "Looking at Lincoln," written and illustrated by Maira Kalman, Copyright 2012, published by Nancy Paulsen Books. — Illustration from the children’s book “Looking at Lincoln,” written and illustrated by Maira Kalman, Copyright 2012, published by Nancy Paulsen Books.

I could have responded with a quick, “Oh no, honey, slavery ended long ago with the Civil War,” but my boy is bright and that answer felt like a cop out. I could have responded with a more candid explanation that slavery does still exist in America today, in the form of human trafficking, but the kid is seven and that seemed a bit sophisticated for him right now.

Instead, I used the moment to talk about racism, something all of us need to be doing more of these days.

I explained to my curious boy that slavery was once considered a lawful practice where white Americans owned black Americans and that those same black Americans were considered property, without rights, less than human. Black slaves were bought and sold, traded and discarded, not unlike pieces of machinery, dehumanized.

My kid knows about the Civil War and the Emancipation Proclamation. He knows, again, from the age appropriate, simplistic histories in children’s books that many people fought and died over the issue of slavery. What he doesn’t know is what followed. It’s not as simple as black slaves walking away from plantations into the sunset, free men and women and children living lives of instant equality.

So in that car last Friday afternoon, I tried. I tried to explain that less than seven generations ago black Americans were considered property and that a race of people imported and mistreated for decades and decades and decades, relied upon for economic gain, are not simply treated as equals because they are freed. An entire race of people does not magically recover from being owned simply by the decree on a piece of paper.

I tried to explain the Civil Rights movement, an effort that resulted in legal equality for African Americans a full hundred years after the end of the Civil War, but that even legal equality does not result in true equality. I tried to explain that even today, over 150 years after the Civil War, true equality does not exist for black Americans because of entrenched ignorance and bigotry.

I introduced the word “racism” to him, which I defined as treating someone differently because of the color of their skin, or believing that all people with different colored skin share qualities, better or worse, than others. I talked about how racism makes life harder for people of color than for he and I with the fair, pale skin we live in.

It was too much for my kiddo, I know, as I spied in the rear view mirror that he was checking out. I wrapped it up, my perhaps overly earnest and simplistic explanation of the connection between yesterday’s slavery and today’s racism. The idea of racism, its reality and existence, is too much for many grown-ups to acknowledge and identify, so I cut my seven-year-old some slack.

But I will keep trying and keep talking and keep identifying for him, in bits and pieces, how life in America is different for people depending on the color of our skin. We were pulling into our driveway at this time, a convenient end to an unexpected lesson in America’s past.

As a mother, I can’t stop indiscriminate killing of black Americans or police officers under sniper fire, but I can teach my boys the realities that exist. I can teach them to understand that in many, many ways their lives will be made easier because of the color of their skin and how other children with different colored skin will have more difficult lives. Kids easily embrace the unfairness of that reality. I wish more adults could do the same.

RELATED: A Tale of Two Chicagos

May 31, 2016

Harambe’s Death and Mom Shaming Unite the Internet!

It started with a zoo, a young boy, a gorilla, some untamed curiosity, and ended with a gun shot heard ’round the Internet. Harambe, the 17 year old Silverback gorilla from the Cincinnati Zoo was dead and the young boy who worked his way into his habitat was safe, but the story was not a happily ever after one.

Some folks complained about zoos being sinful bastions of man’s evil. Some folks complained about a gun being used on the gorilla instead of a tranquilizer or another form of pharmacological restraint. Some folks wondered where Dad was. Lots and lots and lots of folks agreed that Mom was a sorry excuse for a parent, clearly negligent and at fault, and personally responsible for the death of the gorilla.

Sigh.

Mom shaming has become the newest national past time, universally practiced (often by fellow mothers), and cheap entertainment. Grab the popcorn, prop up the feet, and read the comments. Who can use the most vile language to speculate what a horrible person mom must be? Who can get the most “likes” on their comment describing the massive flaws of a woman who nearly watched her child die an unspeakable death?

Here’s my POV about what happened in the Cincinnati Zoo over the weekend: I officially have no opinion because I wasn’t there.

I did not personally witness a mother’s negligence, so have no ability to comment on that. I did not personally witness or debrief the team of zookeepers who opted to fatally harm the gorilla in question, so have no ability to comment on that. I will not personally cast any blame whatsoever having not been anywhere near the events in question or having stood in any of the important shoes in question, namely those of parent, child, or zookeeper. I would add gorilla to that mix, for all you folks who love animals more than humans (and I know this exists and is a thing — no judgment from me, as humans suck much of the time), but, you know, gorillas don’t wear shoes, yo.

See how easy that is?

Sadly, so much of the Internet doesn’t see the merit in my restraint. Mom has quickly become this week’s online public enemy number one. In my own circles, I saw shade thrown mostly by fathers or women without children. In other online circles, the hatred towards mom was much more democratic — young, old, mothers, fathers, those with kids, those without kids.

I read a little, but for the most part just kept scrolling. What is it about us that we need to proclaim, in writing and publicly, how awful we think other people are, especially in the face of their personal tragedy? It’s not enough to assume that mom is already feeling, no doubt, horribly responsible for a child that could have easily died on her watch, we need to revile her openly, aggressively, gleefully, almost.

It’s like the Walk of Atonement from Game of Thrones. This mother was metaphorically forced to walk amongst her Internet commenters and simply absorb the hate that was thrown her way. And as awful as that endless mob of ugly was in King’s Landing for Cersei Lannister, I wonder if a single commenter that cast judgment about the Cincinnati Zoo mother’s parenting abilities might consider that she would be aware of the hate cast her way.

We shame moms openly, without concern. Where was Dad? Not on the radar, as it was Mom at the zoo with the very active and curious four year old, not Dad. Though, full disclosure, I did see a friend post a UK story about how Dad has a rap sheet for gang violence and drug use. Somehow, this news, too, is more reflective of what a horrible parent mom is, for choosing such a man to father her children.

Every one of our transgressions is only a click away, folks, which is sort of my point. Let thee without sins cast the first stone. Isn’t that what Jesus taught? Man, I’m not even religious and know that. For every commenter who speculated about how qualified the Cincinnati Zoo mom is to be a parent, take a deep breath and consider your own parenting flaws. For every commenter who posted about how mom is personally responsible for the death of Harambe and should be made to literally pay for his death, take a deep breath and consider the concept of flow charts and chains of command.

Let’s stop engaging in the gleeful mom shaming that is so rampant on the Internet. When you are baited by news outlets craving the next big story, have your thoughts and opinions, by all means, but perhaps refrain from sharing them online, adding to this growing culture of mom v. mob. For all you know, the next time a mistake is captured on someone else’s cell phone, it might be yours. And you know when it is, you’re moments away from that virtual Walk of Atonement.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: