Not Winning

Sometimes my sister worries that I'm too bold in my efforts to become part of the world again.  Somehow she's noticed that I've been stepping in front of cannonballs since the day she was born.

"It's like raising children."  She said.  "You'll try.  You'll push.  You'll put everything you've got into making things turn out well, but you're not gonna win every battle."

Sometimes, she's too clever for me.  Not delivering the goods for the people and things I care about is why I removed myself from society in the first place.  In truth, no matter how much effort and love, and time I put into something, its success or failure isn't dependent on me, even though it sure feels like that.  Knowing that, and feeling it, are two different things.

My theory was that removing myself from the world would remove this feeling of responsibility, and even if someone or something did fail, at least I wouldn't know about it.  Loving people and things that turned out to be, basically, mortal was killing me, and I lacked the perspective to accept the wounds without fear and self-loathing.  I was too close.

My plan wasn't working.  In my cave, I would still hear that so-and-so died, or such-and-this was closing.  The wounds came fresh, and the blood flowed freely, so I dug into the granite more.  Going deeper didn't silence the sounds of the world; it only muffled them.  Muffled cries of pain are still cries of pain.  When the cries come from someone you love, it's brutal.

Coming back out into the world means I have to accept that, no matter how hard I try, not winning is always an option, and no amount of caring or loving can change that.  Baby sister is wise beyond her means.  This will not be easy.  Failing for me, I don't care about.  Failing for the people I love flays the skin from my bones.  To live though, to LIVE, I have to accept this possibility.  There will be times when I do not win, no matter how important it is.

I'm ready to accept that possibility.  Not winning will hurt, probably a lot, but what choice do I have? I will fight.  I may lose, but I will fight.  Living in a cave wasn't protecting me like I thought it might.  If I do not win, I will simply try again.

Because She's A Woman

 There are very few people on earth  I can talk freely at a truth to the gut level with.  My sister is my most valuable and oldest association that way.  Tonight we were both trying to pour whatever energy we could into a Millsaps event, and we started talking about a position that was opening up at a company we've both been associated with for a long, long time.  

"I guess they're gonna move Mary into that position,"  I said.  Naming the most logical, most competent person I could think of, who just happens to already be working at that company.  I really didn't put much thought into it and considered that part of the conversation pretty much done.

"They'll never give Mary that position."  My sister said.  "Because She's a Woman."

I made a face and let my brain process what she had just said.  The weight of it and the truth of it hit me pretty hard.  This woman, who we both knew, who we both had done business with, would be denied an opportunity she earned in life--because she's a woman.

Once upon a time, I took an oath to defend womanhood, but I've always interpreted that differently from how the oath writers intended.  I tend to do things my own way.

I'm old.  Despite my expectations, I've survived until the third age of men.  In those many days, I've romantically loved maybe fifteen women and non-romantically loved maybe five hundred more.  I have two stepdaughters who carry a silent piece of me wherever they go.  I have a niece, who, quite frankly, I would cut you for.  And many millions more who I am honor-bound to care for.  Because she's a woman, is the world I've left for them.  I'm not satisfied.

Before Daddy died, I was having a drink with a lawmaker at Scrooges.  The old Scrooges, when they were still in the same building as the Rogue.  Even though he was on an education committee, this was purely a social call.  I liked the guy genuinely and enjoyed talking to him.  He told me how much he liked my sister.  She had just gotten out of college and just started associating with the fella she would eventually cleave to.  A thousand times, people have said how much they admired my sister, and they meant it.

"It's a shame she'll never get to do the things your daddy did."

Driving home, I regretted not punching him and getting thrown out of Scrooges for the first time ever.  The weight of what he said stunned me, though, and it took a while for the wheels in my head to put that information where it needed to go.  I'm old now.  My beard is mostly white, and that sentence still doesn't have the proper home in my brain.  Maybe it's for the best.  Because she's a woman was putting an unfair cap on my beloved baby sister and closest friend.

My sister could have and, by rights, should have done everything my father did and more.  She's smarter.  She's kinder.  She works harder.  She's a better athlete.  She's better looking.  (My dad had a tragically large nose.)  By rights, her fame should have dwarfed his.  Because she's a woman, got in the way.  I hate it.  

Before I cross over to the new lands, I'd like to do something about Because she's a woman.  I think it's time.  Technically I've already taken an oath to do so.  Maybe it's not what the oath writers intended, but it's what I intended.  I am stubborn, and I am honor-bound.

The Return of Ayers

 It was a long day, and I probably need to sleep, but there was one thing I wanted to get out.

Bennie Thompson has ordered an investigation into racial inequity in how Mississippi distributed federal infrastructure funds, and the NAACP and others are saying they're preparing a civil case with the same claim.  

All of this reminds me of the Ayers case, which Thompson was also involved in.  Like the Ayers case, I believe the plaintiffs are correct, and there was racial inequity in how these funds were distributed.  Like the Ayers case, I believe the state of Mississippi may have followed the letter of the law, but perhaps not the spirit of the law.  Having spoken to some of the players involved, I feel confident that Mississippi did follow the letter of the law, but that doesn't mean they aren't still liable for the plaintiff's claims.

So far, so good.  Here's my problem, though, and it's a pragmatic one.  It took over thirty years for Ayers to reach a conclusion.  While the plaintiffs got some of their demands, they didn't get them all, and there were some very, very lean years for the HBCUs in Mississippi, waiting for a verdict in Ayers.  Jackson can't go thirty years without reliable drinking water.  There won't be anybody left living in the city to rebuild the infrastructure for.  

I don't know the answer.  Racial inequity in the handling of federal funds has to be addressed.  But my city is dying, and while this may help Jackson in the long run, if the long run is thirty years, I very worried about the short run.  Ayers had a very liberal Supreme Court tipping the scale in the plaintiff's favor.  That situation no longer exists.  

Jake Ayers died in 1986.  The Ayers suit didn't close until 2004.  I don't want Jackson to be dead when the water treatment suit finally settles.  

Men Without Faith

When considering the issue of crime in Jackson and other areas, a lot of people see a lot of things; what I see are young men who don't believe the American dream applies to them, so they take what they can get.  They may not believe they can work hard, obey the rules, and get anywhere in life, but they know they can be a thug and get an iPhone and maybe some gold chains, and it becomes a bird in the hand situation.

Doing the work and making the dream happen is on them, but this country spent generations making sure the American Dream didn't apply to people like them, so now it's our job to somehow make sure they believe things are different.  Making them believe is on us.  Reparations and transfer socialism won't solve anything long term.  If you can't change a man's heart, you won't change anything.  

I'm probably the worst person to be talking about this.  I had every advantage in the world, but I still didn't believe in myself or in the system.  That doesn't mean I'm giving up.  Having been there myself, I know men can change.  A young man can be the most powerful creative force in the world if he believes.  He can be the most destructive if he does not.  

There's nowhere you can run from this.  There's no suburb you can move to, there's no gated community you can hide behind, America is split in two, and one half doesn't believe there's any hope and doesn't believe in themselves or us, the other half believes they can outrun the problem, and it'll go away, so they move further and further away from their home.

The answer to me is quite clear.  We can only take these two broken halves and somehow meld them together.  I don't exactly know how to do that.  I wish I did.  I know they will have to give up a bit of their culture, and we'll have to give up a bit of ours, and together we'll have to forge a new culture, a new history, and a new future.  Two broken cultures must become one whole one.

I hate having this conversation because it always comes out as the same bullshit people have been trying to sell us since the sixties, and however we've been trying to make it happen, it obviously hasn't been working.  I do, though.  I do.  I do.  I do believe.  I just don't know how to do it. 
It is the only way.  I know that.  I don't want to leave this problem to my grandchildren or great-grandchildren or great-great-grandchildren like it was left to me.