Doomed or Resolute?

May God bless and keep us all safe in the USA.

Deke's Note: There's so much going on right now, I have struggled to know how to write what I feel as a bus operator and American. Most of all, I pray you ALL remain safe. Practice safety above all else. This is NOT the flu, and has killed many more than it should have. WE are at extreme risk, as are those who believe the economy is more important than our collective health.

I have SO wanted to respond to all the strife and division, but have felt intellectually incapable of effectively doing so. For weeks as a white man, I have contemplated my many advantages yet struggled to find the words to describe my anguish. I'm no more worthy of than anyone else whose skin is a different shade of mine. I realize my silence isn't supportive to those most affected by my race's horrific treatment of those who don't look like me. Truly, I don't know what to do. I don't know what to write that wouldn't sound hopelessly trite or condescending. Still, I cannot remain silent and retain anything resembling any dignity.

I'm sad our country, which has always lauded itself "NUMBER ONE" is anything but, in so many categories today. How can we RISE UP?

How can we, after nearly 250 years, fail to recognize the good in each human being, instead of diligently working to find fault in our collectivity? The white race is NOT superior. In fact, history shows our glaring faults each step of the way. Even though our presidents, save for one, have all been white males, our incredible achievements have been made by people of all colors and walks of life.

Our moon journeys were made possible in great part by the mathematic genius of black women who were not given credit for their work until their contributions were nearly 50 years old. Our national heroes have included men and women of all walks of life, to include George Washington Carver, Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks, Toni Morrison, Thurgood Marshall, Martin Luther King Jr., Muhammad Ali, Louis Armstrong, Colin Powell, Aretha Franklin, Richard Pryor, Shirley Chisolm, Roberta Flack, Barack Obama (yes, even him, no matter your political persuasion... he tried to bring us together but many opposed his efforts), and my personal favorite, Mama Lucas.

This last person mentioned was from my hometown Florence, Arizona. When we first moved to this small desert town in 1969, my mother befriended this elderly lady. I was a lad of nine when I first met her. She was a beloved fixture in our new community. Her daughter was my younger brother Dan's Special Education teacher. Married to a Florence community leader, Reginald Sheppard (who heroically served his country in World War II even though racism ran deep in this country then as it still does today), Juanita Leos Sheppard was a deeply-committed educator of the mentally-disabled who loved her students and worked diligently to improve their station in life. Perhaps it was due to her upbringing in a home where her parents fought hard for the simplest respect in life. Whatever the case, Mrs. Sheppard was Dan's guiding light as a six-year-old with Down Syndrome. Juanita not only taught him, but she diligently advocated for the rights of the disabled, firmly believing every person under God's loving sight deserved the dignity every other human being did. Dan adored her, and when she died a few years later, he was devastated, unable to process the simplest facet of life: that we are mortal.

Mama Lucas told us a story one day as I sat at her table eating another of her generous offerings of food as I as a naturally-skinny nine-year-old lad all the Ladies of Florence always wanted to fatten. It started with her dreamy look of love, as she recalled her dearly-departed husband Lucas. She sighed as she began the story, perhaps it was that she was either the daughter or granddaughter of a slave, given her age. I remember she glanced at my mother, then smiled down at me. She caressed my forehead and scalp with her worn and gentle hands. I remember feeling so comforted by her presence. Her hugs were soothing and a great comfort which I eagerly anticipated upon our visits to her home. It didn't matter I was a little "white boy"; Mama Lucas had lived in Florence so long that the children of that town were all the same to her. Her husband's success as a restaranteur had granted her a comfortable home, and her years were numbered. Even so, she was calm and happy with life's blessings bestowed upon her final days. This next story resonated so deeply within me, it remains one of my favorites regarding one's grasping whatever dignity is dangled upon even the most-shriveled carrot.

"My husband and I owned a restaurant," Mama began. "Downtown Florence in the 1940s, serving Lucas' favorite dishes from down home to Mexican and American fare. Lord, how that man could cook! Anyway, in comes this Texan fella, dressed like the cowboy. I brought him a glass of ice water and a menu. He looked at me like I was the devil, lemme tell ya!" At this she laughed.

"Ain't you got any white waitresses?" he asked me. "Why nah sir," she replied. "I'm all ya got, so y'all just let me know what you want to eat and my man will cook it for you."

This, she remembered, struck a negative chord with the man. He was disgusted, and said as much. "I'll be damned if I'll eat at a nigger's restaurant!"

Mama told me she just raised an eyebrow and told him, "I'm sorry sir, but there's the door if you don't want to dine here. Florence folk don't seem to mind much."

With a disgusted snort, the Texan rose and strode toward the door. Little did he know, his actions wouldn't be rewarded in that dusty desert outpost 70 miles between Phoenix and Tucson.

Mr. Lucas had surveyed the scene from his view in the kitchen. A respected businessman in that small town, he knew just what to do. He didn't get angry, he just acted like someone from my hometown would have. As soon as the Texan walked out, Lucas Leos telephoned every other restaurant in town and told them what had happened. Between these calls, a plan was hatched.

When the Texan walked into the next restaurant, he was greeted by Mr. Leos himself. "Welcome, suh! How can I be of service to you?" The Texan snorted once again in disgust and walked out. Of the two or three other restaurants he tried that afternoon, he found the same Mr. Leos waiting for him. See, Mr. Leos had told his fellow businessmen of the Texan's words, and that didn't sit well with them. They all knew Lucas' dedication to his business, and he was accepted as one of Florence's own. That day, every restaurant in town, even for just a few minutes, was owned and operated by a Black man. This moment of solidarity taught one prejudiced man that his disgust for his fellow man was not to be tolerated in their town. He left Florence. Hungry.

This story has great historic and soulful meaning to me. It reminds me of how we were once able to work together to defeat racism's horrific disrespect. Even though some in my hometown still harbored racist beliefs, they were not welcome in that small town's close-knit bond. In Florence, if you were able to hold your own, then you were accepted as an equal.

Mama's eyes teared up as she told that story. Her love for Lucas was an emotion I had not yet learned, but I knew she needed a hug. She returned it with equal love, and it's one of my earliest, most treasured memories. It wasn't until much later that I realized its significance.

Our family, four white boys raised by loving and respect-demanding parents, lived next door to the same family of four girls and equally-demanding black parents. I learned early that we were not that different. I played with those girls, danced with them to the Jackson Five in their living room. The girls teased me, loved and guided me through the deepest the 1960s' racial divisions. I was naive, but they were wise. There was no doubt that we were friends, and that race never entered into our relationship.

One day, a friend of mine came to visit. He lived a few blocks away, but we always hung out. He was also white, the son of a local dentist. Somehow, we got into an argument with my next-door neighbor Sharon. She was gonna kick both our asses, and we knew she could do it. We climbed high into one of my yard's fruit trees to escape her.

Later, my father called me into the living room, stern-faced and angry.

"Did you call Sharon a 'nigger'?" he asked.

"No," I said, dumbfounded. "I would never..."

"Oh?" Dad shouted at me. I was terrified. I had never seen Dad so angry toward me. "Why did her father just come over and accuse you of doing just that?"

"I don't know..." I stammered. "I didn't call her that... I could never..." I had truly never heard that word before. Still, I was about to learn its meaning.

Dad didn't believe me. I was shocked. Having been taught that truthfulness was all my parents required, it was all I knew to offer. Still, whether Sharon had accused me for calling her something I never could have said, or that Dad didn't believe me; it didn't matter. I was spanked harder that afternoon than any other time in my life.

My father was raised an Illinois farmer in the Land of Lincoln, where people earned respect no matter what they looked like. My mother was raised by black nannies, the daughter of a Detroit auto manufacturer's advertising executive. Both parents were steadfastly against racism in every form. Dad, a professional musician, had served in World War II with people of all races and beliefs; Mom had been babysat by Mr. Bojangles, Sarah Vaughan and others while her mother performed in Vaudeville acts. They were horrified at the very thought one of their sons being accused of hurling a racist slur. I had not done the deed, but the fierce bare-butt spanking I received reminded me how painful such an offense could be toward another. I was horrified that Dad didn't believe me, and also that I had been falsely-accused.

From that point, I made an even greater effort to show respect for those whose skin color differed from my own. When I told Sharon what had happened, she was shocked and apologized, saying maybe it was my friend who had caller her that. Even so, I felt downright guilty for it. I was angry for being unfairly-punished, but the lesson was learned. Sharon and I remained friends, but there was a matter of trust that took a while to re-establish. I wish we could have a discussion today about that incident some 50 years ago. It shaped my respect for people of color, one which I still hold today. It's not about anger, but realization of our unnecessary differences. We're equal under the law, but are we in societal understanding? Not quite, given today's horrific circumstances.

As a horny teenager, girls were foremost on my mind. One in particular was Melanie. I found her incredibly beautiful, and yearned to tell her how much I was attracted to her. I visited her home regularly in my early teens, mostly to speak with her granny. Evidently, my lust for Mel was acknowledged by both my mom and Aunt Hazel, because I was sternly advised to abandon my attraction for a girl I found not only attractive, but lovely. I didn't understand why but was lobbied by both Aunt Hazel and my mother to not pursue my love interest. Later, I realized a union between us would have resulted in great pain for us both, even though our town was relatively peaceful and seemingly unaffected by the nation's racial tensions of the time.

Given my history, I know only the truths my life has afforded me in nearly 60 years. First, we must treat each other as God commanded: the same way you hope others would treat YOU. It's easy. The simplest form of respect, if you try. Why must one's color of skin require anything further? Unless you're ignorant, totally entrenched upon the centuries of racial hatred that has defined humanity, life could be so much more calm and peaceful. Whiteness has ruled America for far too long. It has defined neighborhoods and created a line too many have dared not to cross for fear of violence It's time to erase all boundaries and aspire to discover what it would be like to live amongst one another in peace and respect for all humankind. It's time we recognize the inherent good in all people, and discard the hatred of the past that has resulted in reckless violence and disharmony.

We enjoy each others' music, food and cultures. Why is it that we fear one another because of the color of our skin? Underneath the human epidermis lies a network of blood vessels, DNA, shared history and possible love. Why can't we finally embrace this? Other countries have, why can't the one which boasts a Constitution in which its preamble states "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed."

Now, nearly two-hundred forty-four years later, we're still arguing what this statement actually means by today's standards. It's truly ridiculous that a large segment of our population argues that it only applies to white people. Given our murderous treatment of Native Americans and enslavement of kidnapped Africans, it's about time whites bow our heads in shame and accept God's judgement for our sins. There is nothing in the Bible which gives white people superiority over others. In fact, my personal experience has shown those of color possess a greater intellect and compassion than those of my own race. It's despicable how our ignorance holds power over those who are usually more-intelligent than those of my own race, yet lord antiquated and ill-won dominance over others who only seek to level the playing field of equality.

Humanity in the United States is in severe danger of annihilating itself. Abraham Lincoln once stated that "a house divided against itself cannot stand". At the time, he was referring to the state of slavery in a young nation that needed to rid itself of an intrinsically-abhorrent state. Even though times have changed, the state of our collective humanity has not. People of color are held in prison in much higher numbers than their pale-skinned countrymen due to laws which specifically targeted them. Their neighborhoods were officially-deemed "undesirable" and subject to financial regulations which regarded them as poor investments. Hence, the "ghettos" were formed. Law enforcement has routinely targeted these neighborhoods and put many people in prison due to racial warfare, giving America the false impression that people of color are largely lawless individuals who are incapable of positively-contributing to society when they are actually more hard-working and earnest individuals (when given the chance) than people whose skin is as light as the night is dark.

I don't blame those who RISE up today because they have been held down for centuries. In fact, I feel to blame for their demise through my white skin's ability to avoid the trials they have faced. Not once did I have to counsel my children to be wary of their skin color when they ventured out as teenagers. I didn't fear they would be hounded down by the wrongful vengeance of those of a different color for their own race as they ventured out to be with their friends. It certainly NEVER entered my mind as a teenager that my life or freedom could be in danger just because I wanted to "hang with my homeys" on a hot summer night. The cops knew my family and that any frolicks were largely harmless. But what of that of my black friends of that time? Were they pulled over by some over-zealous cop with a hard-on to use that gun on some "black guy" who resented being pulled over just because his skin color did. But still, I wonder... did it happen nonetheless? It certainly did in larger cities. Were my classmates just lucky they lived where I did? Or was I simply blind to something that was happening beyond my white reality?

Today, we're faced with truly ridiculous demands because of the times we're living through. Still, we must not "defund" the police. Let us otherwise train them to recognize everyone's humanity and to choose peace above violence. When a black man reaches for something, it's not necessarily for a weapon but likely some form of identification to offer in hopes to ease the officer's suspicion. They don't feel so threatened when I as a white man reach into my glove compartment for my registration/insurance documents without fear. Why would a black person be automatically rendered a death sentence for doing the same? It's trained into white people to fear black folks, perhaps because of all the horrific shit we've treated them with over the centuries. Maybe our race is afraid of retaliation for our horrific sins. Make a sudden move in front of a cop, and they are primed to protect themselves. Why do they automatically assume a black man will point a gun, rather than documents, at them? Because they assume it to be so. They're taught to assume this. Good fucking grief. Cops should know better. Still, minorities are killed for this ridiculous notion more often than we have been told over the years. And that, my friends, is why they are beyond-the-pale pissed off, and rightfully so.

Our national political situation is in dire need of a powerful leader who can find a way for us to heal the divisions which have built up over centuries of denial and oppression, and a Congress with the balls to stand up above political idealogies to finally, truthfully... join hands in solidarity against racism.

Once the world's hope for all mankind, America has devolved into a cesspool in which respect for law and order has overcome a universal respect for "others". Where our once-hopeful "shining city upon the hill" inspired greatness across the globe, we have fallen into the horrific depths of "one versus the other, and to hell with anyone who objects". People armed with automatic weapons have threatened our statehouses and been granted their freedom of expression, while un-armed protesters have been met with teargas and pepper-spraying those hopeful of reversing the establishment's hundreds of years of systemic racism.

We CAN do this, America. If we stop cutting our country's soul in half and instead reach out a hand to those next to us, regardless of their race/sexuality/religion/politics, we already know we can achieve greatness. It has happened many times before. We once had the greatest nation of all time; now it has devolved into "us vs. them." Pink Floyd, of all bands, is now the prevailing voice of today's disaffected and enraged. Also, I'm reminded of the soulful sounds of Marvin Gaye asking nearly a half-century ago What's Going On and the Rev. Al Green's soulful voice imploring us Let's Stay Together. White people have always LOVED soul music, yet turned a blind eye to the grave injustices served upon their brothers and sisters as they grooved to their soulful tunes. Millions of "white" Americans reveled in the musical geniuses of Satchmo, Nat King Cole, Aretha Franklin and scores of other Black Americans, yet still considered them less than human. This disgusting double-standard has gone on without meaningful outrage for their collective plight. For not only decades, but centuries.

You wonder why millions of people have risen in outrage over the death of Mr. Floyd in Minneapolis? Turn to YouTube and search for the thousands of horrific instances of white "justice" against our black brothers and sisters. For centuries, we have laid waste to their anguished existence. Read the thousands of books devoted to the tragedy of racial hatred whites have visited upon our "celebrated" Black Americans. Venture into your own souls and ask how you, as an entitled white person, have remained silent as you witnessed injustice yet remained silent.

Damian Lillard, a Portland TrailBlazer, said it best recently as he rapped his race's agony over what we're now experiencing. He basically told whites that "whites staying quiet, you disabling the changes". His words finally brought me out from this horrible silence I've felt, not knowing how to respond to my country's horrific moment in history.

In 1865, the last American leader who actually cared about those who languished under an inhuman practice that had flourished in a supposed land-of-the-free, President Lincoln spent his final political capital in his lifelong mission to outlaw slavery. He pushed, cajoled and leveraged Congress to pass the 13th Amendment to the United States Constitution. It finally outlawed slavery in our country. John Wilkes Booth made Abe's dream one he would never see ratified. It was, nearly eight months after his assassination.

Ever since, our country has been divided upon the issue of "equality" among the races. We decimated the Native American population, insulted the integrity of Japanese, Mexican and many other naturalized Americans while the whites flaunted a supposedly God-granted "superiority" not founded in the Bible over our centuries upon this continent. This despicable part of our history now has come to haunt us today. Given our .

Where do we go from here? I submit that we finally learn to love, respect and honor one another. No man or woman is higher than another just because of our skin's color. We each work for a living, hope the best for our children and their own. We live, we die, we love. Why not love and respect one another along the way? If we're "all equal in God's eyes", do we fight so evilly against each other whilst we're alive? When we arrive at God's Heavenly Gates, will you be interrogated as to your failure to love others as you did yourselves, or will your soul be free of such guilt?

You can fail some of the people some of the time, but you cannot con a Larger Being. When your soul is to be judged, will you be rewarded? Some of us lie to our own souls an entire lifetime, only to be exposed to the greatest Judge upon our deathbed. Did you love others as you did yourself? Did you show love and kindness to all you came into contact with, or did you harbor hatred and injustice?

I won't judge you; that's for you and your God. However, I pledge to you all that I love you no matter what our differences. Many of you assail me for my political leanings, judging me even though you fail to fully understand me. It's okay; I forgive you, and hope you offer me the same.

All in all, I sincerely hope mankind learns the wickedness of our past and diligently work toward a more-loving and inclusive future. When I die and you try to find the words which best describe my life, my main hope is that you realize that I loved you for who you are. I did not judge your faults because my own likely outnumbered your own. My life is only measured by the love I've shown those with whom I have come into contact with. To my Beloved, you have been the light which led me out of the darkness. To my children, I am SO proud of each of you; in your own ways you have delighted me in so many ways I could fill a thousand books of your wonders. To my friends, I can only say I lived a fuller life because you treated my soul with intense fun and wonderment; your individual contributions to my life will follow my soul wherever it chooses to travel, and that I treasure each of you to a degree you could never fully comprehend.

Let's Get Together, okay? Vote. Speak up. Be heard, Do not be afraid to be you... everyone else is already spoken for. Above all, remember that Deke, Patrick or that silly ass, however you choose to remember me, LOVED you however we interacted. If I didn't, I wouldn't have spoken with you.

I don't know all the answers, or how to proceed from here. Our economy is suffering, people are unemployed, frustrated and impatient for things to return to "normal". I read and hear that nothing will ever be the same because of a tiny and murderous virus. Will our impatience lead our country to its ultimate death? We're spoiled, entitled and pampered. The rest of the world has done battle with COVID-19 and collectively beat the curve. Yet the USA has failed to rise. Our numbers are spiking because some states believe their historic greatness rises above some tiny virus. We fail to test those who come into direct contact with a possibly-deadly public, for fear this will spike the numbers even more. Our heads are buried so deep in the sands of denial it's likely millions more will die, our economy could spiral into never-imagined depths which make us even more likely to fall victim to an aggressive takeover than we are willing to accept. By the time we realize our collective mistakes, it will probably be too late to correct.

We're at a point in time where we learn to live together and therefore RISE as one to defeat this lil' bastard, or our country dies. It's a legacy none of us wants to live through, but it's possible. Unless we learn to forget hatred, band together like we have countless times before and leave stupidity behind, China's flag could be flying rather than our beloved Stars 'n Stripes before too long.

Think I'm a bit alarmist? I've studied American history my entire life. Not since the Civil War have we faced such a horrific dilemma, but this one is much worse. We're more divided now than we were when Abe Lincoln stated "a house divided against itself cannot stand". Not only are we divided politically, but we are being decimated by a disease many do not understand or even fear. Unless we come to grips with this disease as seriously as the rest of the world has, then it will likely be our ultimate downfall no matter the politics. Our racial divisions right now are powerful, yet tiny in relevance to the threat of this pandemic. Would you rather band together to defeat a virus or fight one another over supposed racial superiority? In my mind, the choice is elementary, and I'm afraid most of you fail to grasp the significance of our collective peril.

Get your head out of your asses, Americans. Keep wearing your masks. Stop massing in great numbers to protest and instead get your VOTES on. Elect those who have ALL our best interests in mind rather than those who espouse ridiculous notions which could kill our country. We have yet to meet the USA's grandest potential. Our history is violent. However, if we learn to live with one another no matter what you look like, who you love or what church you do or do not attend, perhaps our Founders' ideals could come to fruition upon our 250th birthday six years hence. Otherwise, I suggest you invest in your own funeral, because it's surely a'comin. Most of us will surely join you if we fail to overcome this most difficult time in our nation's history. Don't agree with me? I beg you to reconsider.

Peace, folks. We need it now more than ever.

Love to you and yours,

Deke