what we talk about when we talk about the blues

PROLOGUE:

I rather religiously journaled through my adolescence and into my twenties, usually in those cardboard covered marble notebooks (the Moleskine of the poorly-funded pretentious teen), later in some fairly swank leather journals — all of which ended up lit on fire in a barrel on my parents’ farm sometime around 2002. Incredibly cathartic. I felt like it was this amazing new beginning, discarding all that baggage, all that history. For over a decade I’d recorded almost daily — sometimes several times daily — what I was doing, thinking and feeling, and a staggering number of entries that began I’m so sad/tired/upset/depressed today, I don’t know why.

Fact: You cannot cure depression by lighting on fire things that remind you of your depression.

(If you could, I’d be driving around the US, Canada, and a significant portion of the UK with a crate of RPGs in the back of my Volkswagen.)

(Pause to consider the loveliness of that image.)

Yeah, so, depression. Doesn’t go away just because you declare it over. Doesn’t go away just because you want it to. Definitely doesn’t go away when you try to treat it with non-FDA-approved mood-altering chemicals, but that’s like five other posts that I’ve already written. Sorry, I’m having trouble focusing today. I’m fucking depressed.

Continue reading what we talk about when we talk about the blues

hey, Mr. Badon

It’s been on the news everywhere; when I went to get coffee this morning I saw Bobby Jindal talking about it on HLN, and it’s all we were talking about as we stood on line. Ten people killed in New Orleans over the weekend, including a toddler just a few days short of her second birthday. It’s repulsive. It’s horrifying. People are furious. They should be.

State Rep. Austin Badon is furious. He’s so mad, he wants to defend his city so bad, he’s demanding that the National Guard come back to New Orleans.

Hey, Mister Badon. That’s not gonna work.

The National Guard won’t be able to end the entrenched, endemic racism in New Orleans.

The National Guard won’t be able to end the poverty that comes as a result of the racism.

The National Guard won’t be able to fix our shattered school system, which fail so many children, and disproportionately fails the poor and children of color.

The National Guard won’t be able to clean up our corrupt criminal justice system, which jails more people than anywhere else in the world yet cannot seem to improve public safety.

The National Guard won’t repair broken families.

The National Guard won’t create jobs.

The National Guard won’t feed the kids that only get one meal a day, and that from school.

The National Guard won’t end homelessness.

The National Guard can’t address any, not one single reason, why people turn to crime. That’s your job, Mr. Badon. Get the fuck on it.

Get the state to stop fucking around and actually work for the people instead of for themselves. This could be your moment, man. You could start a revolution. You could stand up and shame your fellow lawmakers for their apathy and their ignorance and their greed. You could call out our mayor for being an affable, ineffectual media monkey instead of a leader. You could call out our sheriff for being more interested in clinging to the power of his petty fiefdom than in public safety. You could stand against the prevailing belief that tourism dollars are more important than human lives and dignity. You could.

The National Guard can’t do that. You could.

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and you'll know what's what

In my late teens I worked in the cash office of a grocery store that received regular bomb threats. Not for any particular reason, just that a very disturbed man had fixated on our store and a couple of other businesses for his kicks. I’d pick up the phone and he’d whisper I put a bomb in the store! and giggle and hang up.

I don’t remember his name. I used to remember his name.

So he’d call, and make his threat. I’d go through the procedure posted by the phone: call the sheriff’s department (my hometown was many years yet away from 911 service) who’d dispatch their guys and the fire department; call the manager on duty; hit the alarm and calmly announce the evacuation of the store. The first time, it made my heart pound. After that, it became sort of boring.

Yeah, so and so’s at it again. (What the hell was his name?) The guy had never gone through with any of his threats, but the tiny chance that maybe this time it was for real made us go through the motions. We’d stand outside the evacuation line on the far side of the parking lot and smoke cigarettes until the all-clear was called. The managers would make jokes. If it was cold, we’d sit in our cars and turn the heat on.

I was never scared, after the first time.

The organization I work for now, we’re not very popular, especially here in Louisiana. We don’t publish our address or our inside lines; our office suite doesn’t have a name plaque outside, just the number. We’ve got a peephole in the door. Once last summer a man tried to force his way into the office — how he got the address I still don’t know. He was very angry, but in a frustrated way; he kept shouting that he just wanted to talk.

We don’t often get outright threats, though. Most of what’s directed at us is just ignorance in its purest sense — there’s so much misinformation about what we do, how we’re funded, that people get angry for no real reason. There’s the usual blog and twitter hate. We get emails and letters and very occasionally a phone call.

Yesterday afternoon a man left a message on our general voicemail line; as the first one in the office, I was the one to pick it up. He described his hatred for my organization as “n***** loving” and described what he and his “boys” would like to do to us, to show us “what’s what.”

The matter’s been passed on to the FBI.

We’re all fine.

I’ve never heard hate in a human voice like that. I’ve been in dangerous situations, terrifying situations where I didn’t know if I was going to survive. I’ve been held at gunpoint and knifepoint, I have been raped, I have been beaten. I’ve never felt the kind of hate that was in that man’s voice.

I never thought I’d think fondly on that man who used to call the Grand Union, and giggle as he threatened our lives, but I do now. He never meant it.

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the Bill of Rights doesn't take sides

hey, can I just say that the meme going around right now where people are like “how come no cop ever beat and pepper sprayed the Westboro Baptist Church protesters? huh? they’re the bad guys, not some harmless students!” is a super example of the fundamental disconnect between my fellow lefties and the Constitution, a thing I see all the time and it makes me fucking furious.

guess what. the First Amendment protects everybody’s speech. everybody’s assembly. even if it’s the WBC. even if it’s the Klan. if all they’re doing is hanging out in a public place being dicks, that’s their right. it isn’t right, but it is their right.

so no, I don’t wish the cops would’ve assaulted protesters that are practicing hate speech, because assaulting those people is JUST AS BAD as assaulting students kneeling quietly on the ground. both are a violation of those persons’ civil liberties.

no officers should be assaulting ANYONE. whether you like it or not. whether you agree with them or not. and flippantly saying it’d be right or just if the people you disagree with were brutalized in the same way the people you like were, well, I figure that makes you just as bad as those cops.

the Bill of Rights doesn’t take sides, people. it’s not partisan. it’s not right, it’s not left. it’s for everybody.

loveplanet

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