The owner of a coffee shop in the Central District said this to me the other day. He was telling me about opening a black-owned business on one of the most historic (and most-gentrified) corners in the city, about being welcomed by other business owners, the general air of excitement.
"It makes me feel like I matter."
Yes.
This quotation from engineer and first black woman in space Mae Jemison is posted in Seattle's Central District. Who's the artist? I've seen similar work, last summer featuring Harriet Tubman, in Columbia City.
Reading and watching during pandemic times has brought me joy and relaxation.
The disconnect between brain and emotion continues, writ large at work especially. Two colleagues confided to me this week that they don't know why they're feeling so tired and unfocused and can't sleep.
UM...2020 would like a word.
2020 being shorthand for: pandemic, racial justice protests, work disruption, no social life with friends, no family holidays, daily gaslighting from the federal government for 4 years, nearly seeing congress executed on live video, the vicious treadmill of capitalism, money worries, constant existential dread---am I missing anything?
For everyone who grew up not knowing what PTSD feels like, well I commend you, and welcome to hell. It's not linear. Some days you feel good. Some days you feel nothing. Some days you feel like you're climbing out of a well wearing a blindfold and shoes coated in vegetable oil. One word, one smell, one emotion, can send you into a spiral of remembering and feeling.
The feeling is the worst part.
So please: be kind to yourself. Hydrate. Rest when you can. Watch Real Housewives. Listen to 90's hip hop. Read a trashy novel. Be kind to others, especially if they're front line workers like baristas and grocery clerks and takeout staff.
If you're on Twitter, follow the Nap Ministry. They believe rest is a form of resistance and reparations. And since it's Black History Month, find a way each day to learn and contribute and support.
I noticed this set of murals on a recent walk through the International District. Each one features a prominent Black woman with a vivid portrait and key facts.
The nearby door proclaims: black trans femme gnc nb womxyn lives matter
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| Ade’/Ade’ Connere |
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| Ernestine Anderson/frosty.the.artist |
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| Marsha P. Johnson |
One of the few joys these past few months has been reading. A million thanks to the Seattle Public Library for their robust e-book program. I hadn't realized that libraries license many e-books, instead of outright buying them as they do print editions. Sometimes they're not allowed to even do this until a certain amount of time has passed since publication. A lot of this has to do with greedy ass publishers like McMillan's. So the fact that my own SPL is having to massively bump up its e-book lending without a corresponding increase in funding, is pretty amazing.
I've been reading my way through several brilliant detective series, written by Black women authors. Rachel Howzel Hall, who I mentioned in September, and her LAPD protagonist who is by turns witty, bad-ass, thoughtful and frustrated in love.
And, the incredible Attica Locke. Her series featuring Texas Ranger Darren Mathews is a thorough exploration of being a Black law enforcement officer in East Texas. She adds in lovely and passionate diversions into the blues music and performers of the area.
I've also begun reading Celeste Ng. Hulu's adaptation of "Little Fires Everywhere" left me frustrated. The script didn't give the luminous Kerry Washington much to do. The book however is wonderful.
My sis gave me 2 collections of historical Black writers, so I'm looking forward to digging in there, too.
Read on, y'all.
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| Seattle Electric |
After feeling some hope--there's a vaccine! people in my town are actually getting shots--it feels like real progress is still lurking a ways off.
More vaccine shipments are delayed both here and in other states. On purpose? Simple mismanagement? And someone dies every minute.
My houseless neighbors were forcibly removed from the park. AGAIN. With brute power and dozens of police and days of low-flying helicopters and arrests. It feels like the neighborhood is being punished. I don't understand why we can't do better for our citizens. Does the mayor think people are living in tents in the park with no toilets because it's fun? I just don't understand.
The Current Occupant's delusions continue and are increasingly scary.
And not incidentally, drivers are harried and careless and now that we have wet, rainy streets and sidewalks I feel as though I'm cheating death every time I step into a crosswalk.
*
Take some time for yourself!
Read.
Stare at the sky. Or at the ocean.
See you in a few.
Seen on Westlake Avenue. Artist unknown.
I'm speaking. Kamala Harris
I don't think of myself as a yes person.
OK OK I'm a contrarian, I freely admit it.
That said, these are tough times and I'm trying to keep kindness front and center. To others, and to myself.
This whole idea of "we're in the same boat," though. The toxic positivity folks.
Nope.
That ain't it, not now, not for me. Not even close.
I'm lucky, in so many ways, and I'm struggling. Like most people I know.
This week I checked in with two white ladies of a certain age, former co-workers and people I know (knew) to be educated, kind, and generally well-off.
One chided me for asking if she was "hanging in there." She hoped we were doing better than that! Life was pretty good. She's been ordering takeout. Her daughter adopted kittens.
The second spent a long time talking shit about diversity training (all they focused on was black people, she complained). And Trump voters ("those people"). I said that those people were my family, and while I disagree with them--vehemently--I also despair. I feel sadness. I feel kindness. I don't know what has happened.
Maybe the I'm fine/you be fine mentality is a kind of protection. If I'm not fine/you're not fine then there are bigger questions to ask.
And I think there ARE bigger questions to ask.
Let's not stop asking them.
It's looking like white women voted for 💩🤡 at a rate of 53%.
More than in 2016.
This statistic frustrates me so much. Partly because I know some of these women. I'm related to some of these women. They would describe themselves as god-fearing upright moral people. People who voted for a reprehensible, immoral, sexist, ableist, homophobic, transphobic, racist, selfish crook.
A person who's not even good at his job. Who despises average Americans. Who's only in it to enrich himself and strengthen his brand.
And voted for him not once but twice!
I go back to the path forward identified by Ijeoma Uluo in an interview this summer.
--Learn
--Support/Do/Be of Use
It's ugly, too. It reminds me, every time I pass by, that law enforcement is putting a HUGE barrier--and yes I'm shouting but it's big!--a huge barrier between themselves and the community they committed to serve and protect. I don't understand it. As a citizen, taxpayer and resident of the neighborhood, this kind of deliberate escalation offends me.
I don't dispute that the precinct has been a flashpoint in the months of protests since George Floyd's murder. Nor that it has been the target of a few firecrackers, hurled water bottles and the like. But, think about what kind of force is on the other side of this. Tear gas. Pepper spray. Grenades. Men with guns.
I don't have all the answers but this kind of power and violence imbalance is not promising for those currently at the helm.
*
The concrete is also a frequent target of taggers. As fast as people graffiti the offensive cement cubes, someone (SPD? the city i.e. taxpayers?) comes out and paints over it. It's a constant agitation. At this rate, the grey paint will be six inches thick by Christmas.
Seen on a jaunt around the neighborhood.
I'm trying to tag artists in every post, but I can't find this one: the MATH.
Converge Media and King County Equity Now held a three-hour town hall the other evening. Featured speakers included Nikkita Oliver, Marcus Green of South Seattle Emerald, and King County Council member Girmay Zahilay, as well as Mayor Durkan.
What an opportunity for 206 citizens to listen, learn and contribute. I hope it was the first of many.
More art from my walks around the city.
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| no touch face/me62" |
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| squash racism |
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| Justice for Elijah McClain/Throwbacks NW |
I hate crying and especially in public, but these days, tears are a release.
Some days, I cry out of frustration. The stress upon stress upon stress, with no end in sight.
Occasionally, from anger. The pandemic didn't need to be this bad, or long, or devastating. And now the biggest, loudest liars have been infected. My city could do better, but we're failing.
Other days, fear. How bad is it? How bad will it get? Will I be strong?
And some days, from loneliness. I'm by myself a lot. I can go days without seeing anyone or hearing a human voice other than on a podcast, or a work call. I desperately miss being with my friends, family, going to clubs, shows, art events. Life. I know it will all come back. We are losing so much in the meantime. But, I know it will all come back.
With the help of friends and the Seattle Public Library, I've been working on de-colonizing my bookshelf. I realized as I was packing a couple of months ago that many--MANY--of the books I've held onto are written by old straight white guys.
Nothing against old straight white guys. Some of them are terrific writers! (Looking at you and you.)
But, it's a particular worldview, isn't it? So, I got rid of 3 bags of books and have begun to read more experimentally.
Some finds:
