Why I Still Have Hope for America

These days, I wake in the morning weary with sadness. The world, politics, fear for my country has worn me down. But then, this morning as my kid is eating breakfast, I see Ellen Degeneres on the back of his cereal box, and I feel hope. Ten years ago, we couldn't even pass marriage equality in California - the most liberal state. Today it's the law of the land, and Ellen Degeneres, an openly gay woman, is the ambassador for goodness on the back of my kid's Honey Nut Cheerios.
I think about the fact that Barack Obama, already noted by historians as one of the best Presidents in American history, is of mixed race, and that inter-racial marriage was still illegal in many states when he was born. 

I think about the fact that Oprah Winfrey, a black woman, is one of the richest, most influential people in the world, when all her grandmother had advised for her was to "find some nice white people to work for" -- and that it's an American colloquialism to describe an extremely wealthy person as having "Oprah money." I think of her ancestors, women who were enslaved, raped, beaten, forced to work in the fields and do the work of ten men, and hope to god there is an afterlife because if there is they are surely smiling down with pride.

This American dream, to bring people from all over the world, from every culture, race, religion to live together as one democratic nation, is an experiment. It theorizes that every man and woman can achieve greatness, and that we are each only limited by the scope of our own dreams. It's a messy experiment, and we have failed terribly on so many levels. But we've also made great progress, because today I'm looking at Ellen on a cereal box and smiling, and maybe even feeling a twinge of hope in spite of the news cycle. 

I'm going to do my best today to feed the hope, and not the fear. I'm going to believe in us, in progress, in the best of America. I hope you will, too.
#KeepHopeAlive
#ThisTermShallPass

Follow up to Rite Aid, Racism post

My post Rite Aid, Racism and Where We Go From Here kicked up a lot of dust with people, both on my Facebook page, and on other people's pages.

I was glad to hear each person's point of view, even though we might not completely agree. We each perceive our lives through a unique lens, based on our own past experiences. For me, I'll admit right now that for a long time I didn't see how deep racism was. I thought we, as humans, were evolving beyond the lizard brain that makes us fear "the other." Drump's America has shown me just how naive that was. Growing up, my stepdad was the only white guy in Little Richard's band. Richard used to introduce me to the audience as his daughter and when everyone laughed, I didn't get the joke. I grew up in a Lala-land world where race was a non-issue and to tell you the truth, I’m still shocked that my perceptions of the world aren’t shared. That’s my sin, I guess. Not white privilege, but the privilege of growing up in a multi-racial, harmonious world. 

To differentiate between people based on the color of their skin is ludicrous. To call yourself a Christian, or a Muslim, or a Jew, and to believe that you are better than anyone else, when you also believe that God created all people, is insane. 

Some people were angry that I didn't automatically side with the women in the story. I am a feminist. I have been sexually assaulted, sexually harassed at the workplace, attacked by a friend's older brother at a sleepover when I was thirteen, having to run home in my nightgown in the middle of the night. Believe me, I am highly sensitive to the issue, and have fought for and marched for women's rights. What I saw at Rite Aid was not an issue of a woman being harassed. I saw two young people, highly emotional, both in the wrong, but ultimately, I saw the young black man being put into a threatening situation, and in today's climate, that is dangerous. 

I'm glad we had a real conversation about this on Facebook. I absorbed what each of you had to say, even when your views were different than mine. I don't think there was one right answer. Sexism is real. Racism is real. And denying that is hurting us. Until we come to terms with truth in this country, we can't make anything better. 

Thanks for reading.

Rite Aid, Racism and Where We Go From Here

Friday night, standing in line at Rite Aid, Evan and I found ourselves in the middle of a drama that epitomized the heightened racial tension in this country.

Two young black men came into Rite Aid, and passed by two white girls, a blonde and a brunette. The men were handsome, muscular, wearing tank tops and shorts. They looked like they had just come from the gym. The girls were wearing jeans and tank tops. All four looked to be in their twenties. The younger guy said something to the brunette. Her response to him was to loudly say “Fuck off.” Then she turned and stormed away.
“Fuck you, too!” he fired back.
And with that, all hell broke loose.The blonde girl started screaming and cursing at the man. “Don’t you fucking talk to her like that you motherfucker! Don’t you ever talk to her!”
“All I said to her is that she looked pretty!” he shouted back.
“I don't care! You don’t say ANYTHING to her. My sister is sixteen years old! You don’t talk to her!”
“I didn’t know she was sixteen! How am I supposed to know that?” he shouted back.
(She didn’t look sixteen, by the way. She looked 25, and they didn’t look like sisters.)
“You don’t talk to her, motherfucker!” she screamed.
“Shut up, bitch,” he said, and it went ballistic from there. (As a feminist, I HATED that he said that.) They both were at fault, but if there were a contest for filthiest mouth, the blonde girl would have won. She was a constant stream of screaming expletives. Everyone in line stood there, most of them looking down or away. 

The blonde girl shouted at the manager, “Call the police! Get this guy out of the store!”
Someone said they had called the police. At that, the guy’s friend got on his cell phone and started explaining the whole situation to someone. Maybe he was calling an attorney - I don’t know.
The store manager came over to the younger guy and quietly asked him to tone it down. He said he didn’t want any trouble in the store. The young guy talked to the manager in hushed tones. They even shook hands. The manager said nothing to the blonde girl, and did not ask her to tone it down, even though she was the one who provoked the whole screaming match. 

After a moment or two she started up again, warning him, her finger pointed at his face, that he better not EVER talk to her sister again. He screamed back. It escalated again, and the black guy shook his head and said something about “white people.”
Finally, I shouted above them, “Please! Everyone calm down! Both of you! There’s a child here.”
At that, the young man said, “I’m sorry ma’am,” and to Evan, “I didn't see you there, little man.”
The blonde girl ignored me, did not stop screaming and did not tone down her language in front of my son. We paid for our merchandise and hightailed it out of the store. Evan was pulling me by the arm. He was scared. 

In the car as we were pulling out of our parking space, Evan asked me, “Was that man a thug?”
My hair stood on end. “Evan, where did you hear that term?”
“In videos and movies. There are these guys that are really mean and tough looking and they always talk about thug life.”
“Have you ever thought that about any of our black friends?”
“No, of course not,” he said, "but that guy seemed mean."
Just then, the two men were walking out of the store. The young man’s friend was still talking on the phone to someone. He came out first. I stopped my car, rolled my window down and said, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
He lowered his cell phone, walked over to my car and bent down, to see me eye to eye.
“Listen,” I said, “I saw what went down in there. I mean, I get it. I know why your friend was angry.”
“He didn’t mean anything by it, he was just upset. I’m sorry your son was scared…”
“It’s okay. I know racial tensions are running high in this country right now, and everyone is emotional. But I heard what your friend said about white people, and I just want you to know…all white people aren’t assholes, okay?” I extended my hand to him.
He looked down and shook his head, then he took my hand. “I know that,” he said. “I deliver Nestle water out in Malibu every day. I know that.” He squeezed my hand. Just then his friend walked up to us. He saw us talking, our hands clenched in a handshake. Over his friend’s shoulder, he shouted to Evan in the back seat, “Hey little buddy. I didn’t mean anything against you, okay? It’s all good, little man. You’re the man!”
Evan nodded and waved back. We all shook hands, told each other to have a good day, and although I am not in any way religious, I found myself saying “God bless you” to them as they got in their car, because maybe that’s all I know to say at this point. 

As we drove away I asked Evan if he thought those guys were mean and scary.
“No,” he said. “They seemed really nice.”
Then, as we drove home, I had a long talk with him about why that man at Rite Aid might have seemed mean. In my opinion, it’s because anger masks pain, and young black men are feeling a lot of pain right now. I told him that, in my opinion, if it had been a young white guy who had hit on that girl, she would have possibly ignored him and gone on with her shopping. Or maybe even flirted back. I highly doubt she would have told him to fuck off. I highly doubt, if he had been a young white guy, that her sister would have been screaming at the manager to throw the guy out of the store, and call the police. I told him how many young black men have been wrongfully incarcerated. I told him the story of Jordan Davis, and Tamir Rice and Philando Castille. He was shocked. “How can people do that? How can they just shoot someone like that? That’s against the law!”
“Yeah, it is against the law. But too often, people aren’t being prosecuted for murdering young black men. And that hurts. And that makes people angry, and defensive.”
“I understand,” Evan said. 

So here we are. I have no simple wrap-up to this story. I have no happy ending/lessons learned.
This is what we are in the middle of, and it sucks. I can only think of the words my husband once said to me, when we were in personal crisis and fighting each other. He said, “In times of trouble, we have to turn toward each other, not against each other. Otherwise, we’re not going to make it.” So maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s the only solution we have to work this out; each other.
And because I don’t know what else to do or say, I can only say this…God bless us.

*** this was a post on Facebook that was shared widely and garnered hundreds of strong emotions and comments. I realize that not everyone will see this story in the same way that I interpreted it. I can only say that this was my experience, and this was the way I perceived the situation, based on the things said, and the level of vitriol. See my follow up post for further clarification: https://hollyedexter.blogspot.com/2017/07/my-post-rite-aid-racism-and-where-we-go.html

Meeting my Muslim Neighbors

Islamic Society of West Valley/ Inter-faith dinner

Last week, my eleven-year old son Evan confided in me that he’s been having some fears about ISIS, because of all that he’s seen on the news, and heard from friends at school. He told me that a few days before, a delivery man wearing a turban came to our front door to deliver a package and he was afraid that it might be ISIS with a bomb.

I realized that this was a pivotal moment for him, so I stopped what I was doing and we had a long talk. I told him that the delivery man was most likely a Sikh, first of all, and Sikhs are not affiliated with ISIS. Second, I told him that Muslims make up 21% of the world’s population, and just as the KKK do not represent Christianity, the violent people of ISIS do not represent the religion of Islam, and are only a tiny fraction of a percentage of Muslims. I also told him that in 2015, toddlers handling their parents guns killed more people in America than terrorists did, so the probability of him running into a terrorist are, again, a fraction of a percentage. (He’s a math kid, so he likes this percentage stuff.)

But I realized that what might matter for him more than percentages would be to have a positive experience with the muslim community. So I reached out to my friend Virginia Classick, the inter-faith queen of the gun violence prevention movement, and asked for her help. She suggested that I attend an inter-faith Ramadan dinner at my local mosque.
Evan was so nervous on the way there. “How long will it be?” “What If I’m dressed wrong?” “What if I’m the only white kid, and everyone thinks I’m weird?” “What if I don’t like the food? Do I have to eat it?”

When we arrived, we were warmly welcomed, and within minutes, Evan ran off with a pack of kids to the children’s classrooms upstairs, where they played together for hours. It turns out, one of the kids, Raif, is a classmate of Evan’s. Now they are friends.
The highlight of the evening for me, aside from the amazing food (which Evan happily ate), was when we were all welcomed into the mosque for evening prayers. I sat on the floor in the mosque next to Muslims, Christians, Jews, and Sikhs. And as the plaintive song of prayer filled the room, and the worshippers bowed and knelt, we could hear the rumble of our children’s footsteps upstairs, and their laughter as they chased each other down the halls.

The Imam pointed out that though the Arabic is the language of their prayers, the congregation at their mosque were people who spoke many different languages and were from very different cultures. In the front row were congregants from India, Iran, Kenya, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Indonesia and others. The overwhelming takeaway from the evening was community, unity, love and service.

Evan is not the only one who benefitted from this evening. I, too, made many new friends. Farha, Ashia, Namia, RevFelicia Parazaider from the Love Revolution in Berkeley, Stephanie from the Vineyard Christian Church, and I even ran into a few old friends there: my activist friend Spike Dolomite Ward, and long-time friend Cantor Mike Stein. Standing next to me in the photo (in the pretty pink jihab) is my new friend Farha. She is originally from India. We talked about mostly mom stuff: our kids schools, the best local programs, the winning academic decathlon program at the local high school that her son had participated in (he is now at UCLA), and the challenges of middle school. We also talked about the misperceptions being spread about “Sharia Law.” Farha reminded me that amongst the first of Sharia laws are prayer, charitable giving, and fasting as reminder of what we are grateful for (sound like any other religion you know?). Everyone I spoke to from the Mosque warmly embraced and welcomed us, and invited us to come back, anytime.

When I finally rounded Evan up to leave at about 10PM, he was happily lounging with his new pals playing Super Mario Brothers in one of the children’s classrooms. As we left, he said, “That was really fun. I’m so glad we came!”

So am I.
Mission accomplished.

Evan with his new pals.

Crossing the Political Divide: My Conversation with an Unlikely Trump Voter

This month I was in Washington DC to do a little rabble-rousing with Congress. My friend Sandy Phillips and I caught a cab back to Dulles airport, and that's when we met our cab driver, Yamir. Yamir asked what we were in town for, and I told him we work to prevent gun violence and lobby for stronger gun laws. He thought that was great, and was in full support of our mission. Assuming that Yamir was not born in America, due to his very thick accent, I made some offhand comment about Trump being a jerk.  That's when Yamir said, "Actually, I voted for Trump."

I was floored. I couldn't understand how a black, immigrant man could possibly have voted for a President who so clearly did not represent his best interests, so I asked Yamir why he voted for him. We had the most interesting 45-minute conversation on the way to the airport.

Yamir immigrated here legally from Ethiopia 20 years ago. He lives in Virginia, is married and has 4 kids. He and his wife are hard working and make a combined 100k. He has always voted Democrat, but he said that Obamacare in Virginia set his family back about $5k a year. This really upset him. Also, he is Orthodox Christian and even though he is not so much practicing, he says it's ingrained in him because it's how he was raised and it's his culture, so gay marriage was hard for him to accept. I listened to him with respect, and then I offered up my personal story of my Baptist preacher dad and my two gay brothers. I told him that it's easy for my Dad to accept my brothers for who they are because Jesus taught us to love and not judge each other. 

He really listened to what I had to say, and agreed that my argument had merit. He said that his wife and his son, who is a student at Boston University, tried to talk him into voting for Hillary,and that they had almost convinced him until the Comey letter. That's what pushed him over the edge. Now he totally regrets his vote. He told me how angry he is about the racists in the administration, the billions we're paying for Trump's golf trips, Trump's lack of intelligence, and the Russian collusion. He sees now that he was duped, and I told him I really respected him for having the courage to be honest about it. We had the most productive, respectful, intelligent conversation, and shook hands at the end. 

I truly believe that sharing our stories is what will save this country, whether it's about gun violence, healthcare, women's issues. I hope you will share your stories, and let others know why your personal politics have value to you. Let's keep the conversations going.

Put your broken heart aside and #RESIST

Have you ever heard of the term "MORAL INJURY"?  This happens when what you believed about the world turns out not to be true. I learned this term recently at the Women Against Gun Violence Firearms Suicide Summit. A military psychiatrist explained it to us, and told us it’s the number one reason Veterans commit suicide.

Moral injury is what many of us are experiencing right now. We lived through, or saw what our parents and grandparents lived through with World War II and Vietnam and the long hard struggle for civil rights. We were grateful those times were behind us, that we could learn from them and never repeat those mistakes again. We lived through 9/11 and Matthew Sheppard and the fight for marriage equality. We worked hard to elect the first African-American President, and were about ready to see another step toward equality in America with the first woman President. We thought there was no stopping the beautiful progress America had made. We were becoming a kinder and more inclusive society. We were evolving!

We slapped our “LOVE TRUMPS HATE” bumper stickers on our cars and planned our victory parties with friends because there was NO WAY a married man who had bragged about grabbing women by the pussy could EVER be elected President. I mean, look what happened to Bill Clinton, right? We laughed at Trump's campaign as we watched it unravel after he insulted Hispanics, blacks, Muslims, veterans. We never, ever believed that anyone, no matter what side of the aisle they were on, could elect such a hateful person – especially a hateful person with absolutely no experience in government, nor any understanding of how our government works. Americans are a good people. The majority will vote the right way. After all, we’ve evolved!

But Republicans voted party over morals. Trump received less votes than Romney, but still got the lion’s share of Republican votes. He won because Democrats – a LOT of them, just didn’t bother to show up. They were sulking. They didn’t like the choices so they decided to sit this one out. I warned, over and over again on social media, that bad politicians are elected by good people who don’t vote. And it happened. President Obama reflected what we aspired to be, but Trump reflects back to us what we’ve become.

So now we are faced with the consequences. We are shocked and in mourning. We didn’t unite against hate and misogyny, and now it is being visited upon us. The President of the most powerful nation in the world is a self-deluded narcissist who knows less than nothing about foreign policy and how the government works. A white supremacist has been chosen as the President’s top advisor. A climate change denier has been chosen to head up the Environmental Protection Agency. Ben Carson, who claimed that homosexuality is a choice and evolution is an idea encouraged by the devil, is in charge of HUD. The GOP has the steering wheel for all three branches of government, and the NRA was just thrown the keys to the car. You think you’re hurting? Our children are the ones who will suffer most for our mistakes.

Yes, we are suffering our moral injury, but there’s no time for hand-wringing. Rome is burning and we’ve got shit to do. We’ve got two years until midterm elections- you know, those elections that Democrats never show up for? These are the elections when Congress is elected. You better work like you never have to make sure every person you know gets to the polls. You better work harder than you knew you could to learn the issues and the candidates, and educate those around you. What ever you do, do NOT become lulled into a sense of complacency and delude yourself that everything will turn out okay if we just “give him a chance” and “think positive.” Never before in our nation’s history has a man with NO experience in governing been given the helm of the most powerful country in the world. STAY WOKE, people. Stay woke and get to work.

START LOCAL: Contact the Democratic party in your state, find out what local and statewide elections are coming up and when. Call the campaigns and ask how you can help. http://asdc.democrats.org/state-parties/
STAY WOKE and wake the people around you.

DARKNESS DEFINES THE LIGHT

“Darkness defines the light.” That’s what my yoga/meditation teacher Kristen Eykel said, as we engaged in a deep discussion after a group meditation this morning. The darkness that is sweeping the country and the world right now is defining a message for us: RISE.

I woke up today, like every day since the election, with a feeling of dread in my stomach. I've been miserable and short-tempered, and not much fun to live with, even though i meditate and do yoga and I try, really try, to be positive. But today, I think I finally figured out why I can't shake this awful feeling; I am changing. Life is changing me and change is fucking painful -- it just is. I wrote about this in Fire Season. When a caterpillar transforms into a butterfly, it's an ugly affair. Before the butterfly can form, the caterpillar must first completely liquefy inside the chrysalis, becoming what my friend Lyena Strelkoff termed "caterpillar soup." So maybe that's where a lot of us are at right now. We are lying on the floor in a puddle, beat down by life, caterpillar soup -- and that's okay. It's a stage, a step on the ladder of metamorphosis. 

My brilliant friend Lyena had this to say on the subject, "The only way to become more than we were (plus it's the fastest way out of the soup) is to surrender to dissolving. The more we deny how we feel, the more we try to run away from it, cover it up, try to shove ourselves prematurely out of the chrysalis with inauthentic gratitude or positivity, the longer the process will take and the more likely we'll get stuck there. 'Who am I willing to become?' --that's the only question I have to ask. And then let the process of becoming take its (uncomfortable, miserable at times) course. Adversity sucks. But adversity of any kind, personal, professional, communal, global, is always presenting us with the opportunity to become more than we've ever been. The thing is, we have to say yes. And if we don't, then adversity only sucks."

If there’s any silver lining behind these shitstorm clouds, it’s that people are beginning to wake up and answer the call of their higher selves. Human rights, equality, and basic goodness are not granted to us. We are the ones who work to make these things a reality. So how do we do it while the bad news is pummeling us, daily? There is so much: the environment, women's health, defending the marginalized, protecting journalism and the truth. Each of has to decide what our personal activism will be, and then take action. Some of us are warriors who will march, some of us are surgeons who will actively cut the cancer out of this country through legislation, some of us are seamstresses who will stitch the fabric of our society back together, some of us are wordsmiths who will renew the troops with hope and direction, some of us are healers who will hold up the wounded. We all have a role. 

And when we finally pull ourselves out of the soup, when we finally rise, we have to become more than we ever knew we could be. We have to look ourselves in the mirror and say, "I am willing to step into my full potential and own my power."  We have to shine brighter, be bigger, be more than we were before. What other choice is there?

 One thing is certain: the time for hand-wringing is over. All hands on deck. 
 RISE.

How Americans Contribute to the Culture of Gun Violence

Last night, I took my ten-year-old son to see the PG-13 rated movie The Martian. We had just been reading the book, and were thrilled to see something so full of science and math and innovation come to the big screen. We put on our 3D glasses, snuggled into our plush recliner seats with popcorn and got ready for a fun ride. Instead, I was horrified as my child was subjected to the blood-soaked previews of three movies that were nothing but guns, guns, guns—and all of them to be released on Christmas Day. And why is it that the studios will release these bloody films on Christmas Day? Because they’ve done the research. They know that even though we scream and yell at Congress with outrage after every mass shooting, school shooting and theater shooting, moviegoers will still pay big bucks to sit in a theater and accept this gory violence as holiday entertainment, right after having slipped “Call of Duty” and “Grand Theft Auto” into their kids’ stockings.

Hollywood gets no pass here, either. While major studios have weighed in on war and politics and racism and every other societal ill, they continually perpetuate and glorify gun violence and vigilantism, even while their fans are gunned down in theaters. But are we boycotting? No. They dish it out and we keep on buying it.

I am an activist. I have had four incidences of gun violence affect my life. My little brother, at seven years old, was shot in the head by a troubled teenager down the street, and has had to live with the fallout of traumatic brain injury and PTSD. My best friend was shot five times by the father of her children, and lives with a body full of shrapnel. At fourteen years old, I witnessed my neighbor commit suicide by gun right in front of my house. Two years ago, my husband’s childhood best friend, a police officer, was shot and killed in the line of duty, along with his partner, by a maniac wielding an assault rifle. I do not live in a third world country. I didn’t grow up in Afghanistan or Somalia. I grew up in the very suburban San Fernando Valley in California. But I am not sheltered. I don’t have the luxury of thinking that gun violence is something that happens to other people. I know it can happen to any one at any time, and I don’t want it to happen to you.

After every shooting, I watch the news, the talking heads, the politicians who make their media appearances and send their “thoughts and prayers” tweets out, and still nothing gets done because we all sit comfy in our homes, pointing the finger of blame at them. But while we are pointing our fingers at Congress, there are three fingers pointing back at ourselves. If we were so upset about Sandy Hook, why didn’t we show up at the polls to vote out those NRA-backed politicians? Last year our voter turnout for midterm elections was the lowest in seventy years, and most of those who showed up to vote were conservatives who favor gun rights. As a result, we got more NRA-backed politicians voted in to office.

Every week, my friends post articles and memes decrying the horrors of American gun violence. In response, I post simple things they can do to prevent gun violence,  like signing a petition or making a 1-minute call to Congress. But these action posts get little to no comments, very few clicks, and almost no shares. The truth is that as 33,000 people are dying every year from gun violence, very few Americans take any action at all.

We’ve gotten lazy, America. If Martin Luther King were alive during this generation, and the civil rights movement were happening right now, would you show up to march, or would you just “like” his facebook call to action, repost a few memes, express your outrage about racism in a tweet or facebook post, and call it activism? Congress didn’t make change happen during the Civil Rights Movement. The people did. Where are the people today?

For far too long, the work of gun violence prevention has been on the shoulders of the grieving parents of murdered children, and those who have survived being shot. This is not their issue alone. This is not an inner city issue. It’s not a racial issue or a gang-related issue. Gun violence is an American issue, and if it hasn’t touched you directly yet, unless we do something about it, it soon will.

Brave New Films recently did a PSA pointing out that between 2001 and 2013, over 400,000 people have been killed due to gun violence. That’s equivalent to ten terrorist attacks EVERY YEAR. It’s more than one hundred thirty-five 9/11’s. We are at war with ourselves, and we are far more deadly than any terrorist. See video here:  https://www.facebook.com/bravenewfilms/videos/10153051431607016/

Are we okay with this? Are we going to accept this as “just the price we pay for our 2nd amendment rights”?

Albert Einstein said it himself: “The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who refuse to do anything about it.”

TAKE ACTION:

Here are three simple actions you can take right now to help prevent gun violence. You can click on one, or just keep scrolling. It’s up to you.

Sign up here for a weekly email of three things you can do to prevent gun violence: http://wagv.org/get-involved/

Join a gun violence prevention group in your state. Find one here: http://www.ceasefireusa.org/page/join-state-affiliate

Make sure your House Rep supports Universal Background Checks on all gun sales! HR 3411 expands background checks on all gun sales and stops criminals from getting guns online or at gun shows. The list of co-sponsors for HR 3411 is here: http://ow.ly/T8rWC . If your Representative is on the list, thank them. If not, remind them that 90% of Americans support expanding background checks – and if they don’t represent the people by supporting this bill, they don’t get your vote.

Thank you for doing your part to change the culture of gun violence.

"Muslims are terrorists, black guys are scary, cops are racists" and other crazy assumptions we make.

Yesterday, while watching the news unfold about the horrific hostage crisis and shooting by a madman in Sydney, Australia, I became concerned when CNN stated over and over that the shooter was a Muslim cleric. And today, with news of the massacre in Peshawar, I fear the worst. I know how we humans absorb information fed to us by media and make subconscious connections and assumptions; Muslim clerics are terrorists. Black guys are scary gang-bangers. Backwoods Southern boys are Klu Klux Klan members. Catholic priests are pedophiles. Cops are racists.

Above is a photo of Shakeel Syed, a muslim cleric, standing united with Reverend Sandie Richards, Rabbi Neil Comess-Daniels, and Reverend Louis Chase, at our one-year memorial event for Sandy Hook last year. This year, in conjunction with our coalition’s #LightLA campaign, Syed’s Muslim community held a vigil to remember all those lost to gun violence. Shakeel Syed is a Muslim cleric. Shakeel Syed is a voice for peace in our community, as are the majority of Muslims. Let that be a new association in your mind.

The judgments we make about others come from the most base part of our brains, actually termed "The Reptilian Complex" (the lizard brain). This is where fear resides. This is where the instantaneous fight or flight reaction comes from. This is the part of our brain that fears anything that is not familiar, anyone who does not look like us, speak like us, live like us. This reptilian complex is where tribalism is centered. Tribalism is what makes us wage wars, or even attack others at sporting events should they root for the opposite team.

But we are not "tribes" any more. We are no longer neanderthals. We are capable of rational thought. Through commerce, culture, and the internet, we have become a blended, interconnected world. But our human brains have not yet evolved to match the level of technology we've achieved.

Only by constantly challenging our own assumptions will we grow. We rise above the lizard brain only by forcing ourselves to entertain the possibility of other humans, very different from us, being just as worthy and deserving as we are.

Let’s stop assuming that all cops are racist, all priests are pedophiles and all blacks are looting, rioting hoodlums. Let’s please stop assuming that all Muslims are Taliban or ISIS terrorists. Let’s stop assuming. Period. Let’s recognize that no one comes into this world aiming to be a heartless villain. It is only a small, sick, tortured minority that becomes that. What if, instead, we awaken to the reality that we are, the majority of us, not enemies, but good people with good intention, even if we go about our lives differently?

Imagine…

For more on the workings of the lizard brain: http://hollyedexter.blogspot.com/2012/03/lizard-brain-strikes-again.html

The International Women's Day Hangover

Photo: Forbes Magazine

March 8th was International Women’s Day. I celebrated by surrounding myself with brilliant, strong courageous women who inspire me. From morning till night, I was in the company of estrogen-laced greatness. Yes I was giddy and uplifted by the love, encouragement, and beauty of these women. All day my facebook buddies were touting  how happy and PROUD they were to be women. Yay for us! I got caught up in it. You could say it was intoxicating.

And then comes the morning after, also known as… the hangover. And with it, the sober thoughts.

Yes, I love being a woman. Sometimes. And sometimes it just plain sucks.

How could I say such a thing? Because although I believe in the power of positive thinking,  I don’t want to be in denial about the hard truths. If we don’t acknowledge them, we can not change them.

So here is my list of womanly things that SUCK:

It sucks ….

That my son asked me the other day if it was really true that women are paid less than men and I still couldn't say, "No, honey. That was in the olden days."

That we are still fighting for control over our own reproductive rights.

That I’ve had to look over my shoulder all my life walking to my car or getting in an elevator because one in six US women are rape victims.

That my daughter has to carry pepper spray.

That women in so many parts of the world aren’t free, don’t have rights, are chased by the virtue police, have to wear burqas, are stoned to death for minor infractions that men get away with every day.

That 62 million girls are denied an education around the world: http://aol.it/1GeLdEN

That one in four women are victims of domestic violence.

That every 16 hours, an American woman is shot and killed by her partner.

That only 5% of Fortune 500 CEOs are women. 

That the US is ranked 104th in women's representation in government.

Oh yeah….and since I’m feeling cranky, these things suck too:

That women are expected to be eternally thin and eternally young.

The various woman-specific cancers for which research is under-funded.

Bras and high heels.

Okay I’m ranting. I’ll stop.

I’m just saying it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. We have to be better, fight harder, strive more than our counterparts. Here in the US, opportunity abounds and I can pursue any dream I want, but I’m still looking over my shoulder every time a new bill threatens my freedoms, every time a stranger walks behind me, every time I turn on the news and hear yet another report of a missing woman who happens to have a really suspicious creepy boyfriend, and I can never forget that women around the world are still oppressed.

Ever since Eve took the rap in Genesis, on some level we’ve been cowering, apologizing for our gender. We bought the lie, and forgot who we really are. I mean…think about it. We CREATE LIFE in our wombs! We are capable of connecting with others at deep soul levels. Our intuition is astounding. But in many ways we are still in that victim role. We haven’t yet stepped into our full power.

So yes, let’s celebrate, but not because the struggle is over. Let’s celebrate all that is good, the progress we’ve made, and the road ahead that we have yet to walk together. Let's celebrate our awakening. 

I am proud to be a woman, proud of all we’ve come through and survived, proud to carry the suffragette spirit in my veins, proud of all the women I am honored to call my friends. And I will be proud to continue to stand up for women, everywhere, until we are equal, free, and safe all around the world.

Happy Hangover Day.

On Veteran's Day

This is a photo of my grandfather Ben - a young man heading off to war. After World War II, Ben became an alcoholic, prone to fits of rage and violence that destroyed his family. Ben had always wanted to be a writer, but his life turned out very differently. Sometimes I think it's part of my inheritance that I pick up the loose threads and carry on -  maybe that's why I feel compelled to write.

Here is a poem Ben wrote in his later years:

ON LITTLE BOYS

When he's small and he's sad, and he wants to cry,
He's told, "Stop! You mustn't do it!"
And whenever he asks for reasons why,
"You're a boy! That's all there is to it!"

So he hides it inside him where no one can see,
Cries in secret whenever he can,
For his parents have shouted, "Don't you dare shame me!"
"Stand up! Don't be soft! Be a man!"

Then he's told to follow that horrible star
Brutish God of gross barbarism
"Take up your weapons and be off to war!"
For scheming and false patriotism.

Those frightened young boys who march away
To send other young boys to their grave,
Who go off to kill or be killed in the fray,
For they're boys and must always be brave

Will justify their meaningless death
to themselves by being so brave,
As they senselessly die, give up their last breath,
the most precious of gifts that God gave.

"35 Years Ago, It Could Have Been Me"

 

“35 years ago, this could have been me.” These were President Obama’s words about Trayvon Martin in his impromptu speech on July 19^th, following Zimmerman's not guilty verdict for the murder of Trayvon.

And it hit me in that moment. 35 years ago, theoretically, it could have been me, too. But it wasn’t.

For 16 months, the right-wing media has been on a nonstop campaign to portray Trayvon Martin- the murder victim- as a thug who deserved what he got. He was, after all, suspended from school for having traces of marijuana in his backpack. And he sent a few inappropriate tweets.

Let me tell you about my own teenaged past.

Like Trayvon, I was a good student, getting mostly A's and B's.

I also smoked pot.

I drank at parties.

I was picked up by the police for truancy, even handcuffed and taken in to the station.

I was in trouble with the principal for forging absence notes.

I sent inappropriate notes to friends filled with bad words (my day’s version of tweeting)

I once shoplifted, to see if I could get away with it. I did, because security never follows me in a store.

I got in a few fistfights when I was younger. (Like Trayvon, I defended myself against bullies.)

On my way to or from parties, I was often walking in wealthy neighborhoods late at night, where I didn’t belong.

But no one ever thought I was a bad kid. No one ever bothered me when I was walking in wealthy neighborhoods late at night because I looked like this:

  

And though I was a poor kid from the other side of the tracks, my mother never had to worry about someone shooting me for walking in the wrong neighborhood.

And then there’s my friend Dennis. He and I grew up together since the first grade. We lived in the same neighborhood. Had the same friends. Went to the same parties. But Dennis is black. His experience was very different than mine. Dennis served in the military just out of high school. He was stationed in Coronado, a very wealthy, very white neighborhood in San Diego. Every weekend when he was on leave and in civilian clothes, he would get pulled over by police and questioned: What are you doing here? Where are you going? What's in your car?  

Can you imagine serving in the U.S. military, and facing that humiliation week after week? And the thing is, though Dennis and I have been best friends for 45 years, he'd never told me that before. Immediately after the Zimmerman verdict, Dennis called me, and for the first time ever, we talked about race.

If there is any silver lining in this Trayvon Martin tragedy, it's that it has opened up some necessary wounds, and given us all a strong dose of reality. It’s time we all start sharing our stories. It's time we really listen, and try to understand another person’s point of view.

When I started working in gun violence prevention after Newtown, I began talking with a lot of parents who had lost children. Many of those parents were black. They too were moved to action by Newtown, but their words to me were: This has been happening in our communities for a long time. Our children are dying every day, but no one notices. It took the murder of 20 white children to get America's attention.

Linda Jay, one of the most courageous warriors for gun reform that I know, holds a picture of her daughter who was murdered.

Before I met these parents, I didn’t really know how deep the problem was because the media’s coverage is so minimal. Until I was standing in the streets marching with these mother and fathers, I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t really know.

Now I know. We all know. And it’s up to us to take action. No mother or father should ever have to lose a child, or to face this kind of injustice again.

If Trayvon Martin was a thug, then I was a thug, too. But because of the color of my skin, I got to finish high school, go on to college, and have a family, a full life and a rewarding career. I want all children to be safe on the streets of America. I want them to be safe in their neighborhoods, in schools, in movie theatres. I want them to be safe from dangerous Stand Your Ground laws devised by the NRA. All children deserve to grow up to have the opportunities I had.

Currently 24 states have Stand Your Ground (or similar) laws. I will stand my ground as a mom- and campaign until the last of these laws is overturned.

(Click here to read my blog on the roots of racism: Lizard Brain Strikes Again )

Black in America- a guest post by Marquis Alexander

Today I turn my blog over to guest writer, Marquis Alexander. My husband Troy became friends with Marquis while the two of them were in an improv troupe. They spent a year laughing and performing together. Marquis is one of the funniest people I know. He is smart, highly educated, a political activist. He is friendly, outgoing and kind.  He also happens to be a black man, which has rendered him subject to experiences that many of us could never imagine. In the wake of George Zimmerman's "not guilty" verdict, I think we all need to wake up. We need to share our stories, we need to listen more. This is Marquis' experience of being black in America.

The Zimmerman Verdict Through the Eyes of a Black Man
By Marquis Alexander
 

We live in a nation that is terribly divided. A nation where some of its citizens are letting out cheers of joy because the shooter of a teenager walks free while others sheds tears of sadness because they feel that yet again our justice system has declared that while all men are created equal, all men are not regarded as such in the eyes of the law. Let me be clear, I feel no hate or ill will towards George Zimmerman. He is just another actor in this tragic play called America. I don't think he woke up in the morning looking to kill Trayvon on that fateful day, but I feel he was certainly responsible for the unnecessary death of a young man who was just trying to go home. In theory, when the gun toting George Zimmerman chose to get out of his car and "make sure the little punk didn't get away" instead of allowing the police to do their jobs, he then assumed responsibility for all that would follow. That's the way it should work, in theory, anyway.

Unfortunately, the jury and a large swath of America don't see it that way. As a black man what this judgment underscores isn't a lack of justice for Trayvon, but a deeper, scarier truth that I am not a man, but a suspect. This verdict says that if my mere presence as a black man is enough for you to feel threatened, and if you act from that place of fear your actions will be justified under the law and you will face no consequences if you turn out to be completely wrong and I end up completely dead.

The most difficult thing with this case is trying to explain to white people what it feels like to be a suspect every moment of your life. I'm sure every black male has a story of when they were pulled over for driving while black, walking while black, or hell just breathing while black. I'll list just a few of mine:

 I was 12 the first time I was randomly stopped by police and questioned because I was walking through Broadview (a white suburb of Chicago) on my way to my aunt's house in La Grange. After convincing them that I wasn't up to no good, they told me to hurry it along. When I was 14, I was a freshman on the football team at Proviso East High School which happened to be all black. After getting our asses kicked by Downers Grove South, we were walking to the bus to head back home. A few Downers Grove policemen pulled up, jumped out of their squad cars, hands on guns, and asked our white coach "Are you okay? Are these guys bothering you?" Even after he had assured them that the large black men WEARING FOOTBALL UNIFORMS were his team and that he was fine, they still asked him "Are you sure?" When I was 17 (same age as Trayvon) I was pulled over while biking to my father's house in Palos Hills. After explaining to the officers that I was coming from work (mind you I'm wearing my Burger King uniform and Burger King hat) and heading home, they commenced to tell me I was headed the wrong way and that the Trace (the subdivisions where the poor and middle class families lived) was that way. Giving him my best what the fuck are you talking about face, I told him "My father doesn't live in the Trace."

I could go on and on with these stories, like the time my white friends got a DWBIPS that's driving with blacks in the passenger seat or the time I almost got shot by police for having the audacity to be standing outside of the apartment building I manage, but that would be like shooting a dead horse carrying a bag of skittles.

Marquis addresses a large crowd at USC.

I know what some of you are thinking, "This is different, this Trayvon kid got kicked out of school for having marijuana and fighting. You went to Northwestern, there's no way you would end up like that." To that I say, google Robert Russ. Robert was a year ahead of me at Northwestern and was so easy going he was given the nickname “Fluff”. Now mind you he played defensive line so he was a BIG dude, a big BLACK dude. One night, just a few days before he was supposed to walk across the stage and get his diploma from a top 15 university, Fluff was shot and killed by police. The officer claimed self-defense, saying Fluff reached for the officer's gun and was cleared by the department. REALLY?!? An honors student AT NORTHWESTERN reached for an officer's gun. REALLY? Luckily for Fluff's family, the jury in the civil trial saw through that horse shit and gave them a sizable judgment. Though they may have felt a small bit of vindication, the fact is no amount of money his daughter, girlfriend, and mother received, is going to bring back Fluff.

The scary part is that I know there is no way for the police or any overzealous vigilante to know who I am or what I've done while I'm walking down the street. They wouldn't know that I've opened up for The President in front of forty thousand people or that I was the only man who spoke on a Ladies Night fundraiser with The First Lady and Jill Biden. They wouldn't know that I graduated from Northwestern, or that I built a robot to win my 8th grade science fair. They wouldn't know that I've raised money for the arts and the environment, that I've tutored young people and taught at one of the worst schools in Chicago. All they would know (which is the same thing that George Zimmerman knew about Trayvon) is that I am a black male, which in turn makes me a suspect, and you will receive no penalty for treating me as such.

When The Police are Outgunned, No One Is Safe

Sergeant Loran Butch Baker, and Detective Elizabeth Butler

 

On February 26th, 2013, there was yet another incidence of gun violence in America. Two police officers were shot in Santa Cruz, a peaceful community of artists and hippies and vegans. This was not just a blip in the news cycle in my household. Sergeant Loran Butch Baker was my husband Troy’s childhood friend.

For years, I’ve heard stories about Troy and Butch, and their childhood escapades. They loved to ride Butch’s minibikes, and target shoot, and play cops and robbers, pretending they were the guys from their favorite TV shows: Chase, One Adam Twelve, Emergency, Hawaii-5-0. They rode bikes, talked to each other on their CB radios, took family trips together, played Little League, and got into general mischief, like little boys do. Troy grew up to be a musician (with a secret desire to be a cop) but Butch actually grew up to be a police officer.

Butch, and his partner, detective Elizabeth Butler, were taken out by a maniac with a gun. This maniac, whose name I will not honor, was known to be unstable. He had a criminal past, had been arrested for sexual assault and carrying a concealed weapon. And yet, according to San Jose Mercury News, he had three guns registered to him, including a .40-caliber semi-automatic Sig Sauer.

Yet another infuriating case of private citizens outgunning the police. Butch and Elizabeth were taken down instantly, never stood a chance. A 28-year veteran of the police department, Butch was just months away from retirement.

Like Troy, Butch had a wife and kids. They will have to find a way to go on without him now. Detective Butler also leaves behind two sons. Having been impacted by gun violence in my own family, I know all too well that these families will be forever affected, and generations will feel the impact. The damage goes far beyond what a bullet can do.

Gun violence is not a local problem. It’s not an inner city problem. It is an American problem. When this madness extends to quiet communities like Newtown, and peaceful hippie artist communities like Santa Cruz, it’s time for us to wake up.

WAKE. UP.

There are almost as many registered guns as there are people in this country (88 guns to every 100 people). That does not include black market and unregistered guns, which could make up to 40% of the guns in America. Gun violence is the second leading cause of death to American children between the ages of 2 and 19. Every day in our country, eight children are killed by guns. Every day. Are we paying attention yet?

The first assault weapons ban was signed into law by President Bill Clinton in 1994, and allowed to quietly expire under George W. Bush in 2004. Since then, mass shootings have become an epidemic. Bloomberg news reports that by 2015, firearm fatalities will exceed traffic fatalities as the leading cause of accidental death.

For those of you who believe guns are not the problem, consider this. According to Forbes, “In 1991, 15 years after Washington, D.C. banned handguns, researchers from the University of Maryland conducted a study to assess the impact of the ban. They tracked homicides and suicides in the district from 1968 to 1987 and found that homicides by firearm fell by 25 percent and suicides committed with firearms dropped by 23 percent.”

When maniacs have open access to military style assault weapons, no community can be deemed safe. Quiet community schools are not safe. Movie theatres are not safe. Safeway stores are not safe. Kindergarten classes are not safe. The police are not safe. When does this insanity end?

There are solutions to this problem. When car accidents were killing mass amounts of Americans, we stepped up and regulated that industry. Today, cars are safer than ever thought possible. We can make this better. No one is talking about overturning the second amendment. No one is coming for your guns. Common sense gun regulation is all we’re asking for.

If you are an American citizen, this is YOUR problem. Every single one of us has to take responsibility and do something. When we band together, small simple things, like an email or a phone call to congress, showing up for a rally, or voting, make a huge impact.

Please, be part of that impact. Let us stand united and make our country safe for all citizens.

The Ones Left Behind

After the Newtown shooting, I made the decision to share the story of my brother Christopher, who was shot in the head when he was seven years old. People who have known me for years had no idea this was part of my history. It's not something I bring up at cocktail parties or playdates. It is too painful a memory to recount. It took me three decades to be able to finally write about that awful day. But then Newtown happened, and I couldn't push the memory away. It haunted me day and night. When I learned that gun violence is the #2 cause of death to children between the ages of 2 and 19,  I couldn't be silent any longer.

I hope that in sharing my story now, I will reach the people who believe guns are not the problem. If an emotionally unstable teenaged boy hadn't had access to a gun, my brother's life would be very different today. My life would be different. My children's lives would be different. Maybe my brother wouldn't have violent fits, and my entire family wouldn't be estranged right now. Maybe my son Evan would know his Uncle Christopher. Maybe I would know my nephew, Christopher's son. But my family was shattered by a single bullet. The sound of that shot still reverberates.

After my story, A Single Bullet, went viral, I was asked to be part of this public service announcement for PBS. I met two other people on this day, whose lives were also shattered by gun violence, but who are using their lives to heal others. 

Linda Evans, whose brother was murdered, is now a grief counselor. Kevin Harris, whose only child was murdered, now works with SilverLiningOfHope, campaigning to end violence in Los Angeles. I am proud to know these strong warriors, though sad for the reason life brought us together. Our only road to hope is to turn this poison into medicine.

Our goal in making this PSA is that people will realize this: gun violence doesn't end with the 24-hour news cycle. The damage is felt in families and communities for generations. 

Please join me, Linda, Kevin, and millions of others, in our campaign to bring common sense gun regulation back to this country.

One Million Moms For Gun Control has changed its name to:

MomsDemandAction.org

Lizard Brain Strikes Again

"I’m not a racist but…"

Any time you hear that opening (and unfortunately, I have) you can be assured that person is a racist. No one admits to it. Not the tea party people with their hateful signs, not the elected officials who send out racial slurs in emails and call them harmless jokes. And many of those are the same people who justify the senseless death of Trayvon Martin. “I’m not a racist, but when someone goes walking around late at night wearing a hoodie, looking suspicious…”

No matter how it is denied, racism is alive and well, and in fact, it is thriving in the lizard-brain.

Let me explain what I mean by lizard brain. The basal ganglia, termed “the Reptilian Complex” by American neuroscientist Paul Mc Lean, is the most base and simplistic part of our brain. This structure is shared by reptiles and birds, and was probably all we had before we evolved. Mc Lean theorized it was  “responsible for species typical instinctual behaviors involved in aggression, dominance, territoriality, and ritual displays”. We are all capable of operating from this lowest functioning part of our brains. We are also capable of functioning higher.

In our lizard brain, we are fearful and territorial. Advertisers know this. Media knows this. The Pharma industry knows this. Politicians know this. They push the fear button to keep us following them like zombies.

In our lizard brain, we are tribal. We attack people at sporting events. We fear people of other races, religions, socioeconomic standing. We move away to gated societies to keep “the others” out. 

In the military, they train soldiers to kill by making the enemy subhuman - “the other”…the “one you should fear”. It’s how Hitler was able to convince German citizens to look the other way while he committed genocide.

The vitriolic right-wing has done a bang-up job of making our President “the other” - “the one you should fear”. They appeal to uneducated, unworldly people, and go straight for the lizard brain. He is a Muslim. He is a Kenyan. His birth certificate is fake. He pals around with terrorists. I mean, really, when has any other president been subjected to such nonsense? Being called a LIAR in Congress? Having a congresswoman angrily point a finger in your face?

Let’s call it what it is. He is BLACK. And the vitriolic right wingers are sending the message: Watch out white people, for President Obama is “the other”. Its this kind of racism, directed even toward our President- the most powerful leader in the free world- that filters down to a young kid like Trayvon, walking home with some Skittles in his pocket.

Its no wonder that citizens who watch FEAR news all day long are feeling threatened. Their lizard brains are conditioned to fear the other, to protect themselves. I wonder what cable news Zimmerman follows. I think I can make an educated guess…

The only way to free ourselves from this hateful way of being, the only way to stop more innocent children from being senselessly shot down in the street, is to evolve. We must open our minds and listen. We must educate ourselves and others, to move our thinking to a higher place.

The next time you get one of those hateful, bigoted emails from your weird uncle, just remember, he’s coming from his lizard brain. The best thing we can do for Lizard-brain is not to engage with him or get angry (that’s where lizard brain thrives) but instead to expose him to something different (beauty, culture, love) that can only be processed in a different part of his brain.

When he makes a hateful post on your facebook page, post a picture like this on his:

It’s up to us to rise above our lizard brains. We have to be the ones who educate. Be the ones who encourage tolerance. Be the ones who put positive, enlightening information into the world every day.

And whatever we do, we can’t make lizard-brains our “other” – the ones we should fear, because then we are operating from our own lizard brains.