Gun violence prevention event and #NRA2DOJ march

As y'all probably know guns are not my favorite invention. They wreak havoc on too many communities in this country, splintering families via death and incarceration, increasing rates of suicide and domestic violence, and holding the NOT illustrious award as second leading cause of death and injury for American children. 

And while the NRA used to be a reasonable organization in support of gun safety, education, and responsibility, it has, since the late 70s, hitched its wagon firmly to the Right-leaning political sphere. While it has continued to budget for education and safety training, the NRA now has an annual budge of "some quarter of a billion dollars, and between 2000 and 2010 it spent fifteen times as much on campaign contributions as gun-control advocates did," according to this October, 2015, New Yorker article. NRA money spent on lobbying peaked in 2015, at nearly $3.7 million, and last year, the organization spent nearly ten times that, $36.3 million, on efforts to help elect Donald Trump. As evidenced by many such behaviors, not least the grotesque video, The Violence of Lies, the NRA recently released, it is an organization that spreads fear and promotes discord, and it makes me exceedingly uncomfortable.

I have, since we moved into Maryland, been increasingly glad to have done so. We have excellent senators, Van Hollen and Cardin, my representative, Jamie Raskin, is terrific, and as I learned last night at a fundraiser for Marylanders to Prevent Gun Violence, our Attorney General, Brian Frosh, is too. He has worked to make Maryland a progressive, safer, environmentally sound state and a national leader in addressing and attempting to remedy the public health crisis of gun violence. 

MD AG Brian Frosh speaks at a MDPGV fundraiser

AG Frosh spoke about his (largely successful) efforts in leading the fight for the Firearm Safety Act, increasing protections for victims of domestic violence (nationally, many of these assaults involve firearms); and getting assault weapons and other dangerous firearms off of our streets. He is a vocal opponent of the NRA's attempts to weaken or eradicate reasonable gun safety measures like background checks, and I appreciated so much his educated, thoughtful positions and dedication to Maryland and, by extension, the US.

It was a perfect segue to the #NRA2DOJ protest and march I participated in this morning.

Organized by the Women's March leaders, today's event was a direct response to both the horrific lack of justice meted out in the Philando Castile trial (the officer who murdered Castile was acquitted; the NRA took nearly a year to make any public mention of Castile's shooting and death) and also the NRA video I mentioned earlier. Additionally, the Newtown and Pulse nightclub massacres, the deaths of so many black Americans at the hands of police, the gun violence crushing many American cities, and the role of firearms in domestic violence and child death and injury moved many to get out and make our voices heard.

We arrived at the NRA's Virginia headquarters just before 9am. The DC area has been enflamed in a record heat wave this week, and by 10am, temperatures were near 100 with off-the-charts humidity to boot. After a vigorous rally, we all planned to march the 18 miles to the Department of Justice downtown.

There was a moving tribute to the children killed at Sandy Hook and a number of inspiring speakers, well-known and not, rallied us. You should all listen to and follow Tamika Mallory, by the way. She is amazing!

Periodically, some NRA supporters strode around, guns and ammo strapped to their thighs and chests, their signs held high. They were all male and all white. Their signs read:
Free Speech BY ANY MEANS Necessary
and
The Second Amendment Protects the First
and
Free Speech Is Under Attack
and
Patriot Lives Matter

It seems to me that if you're walking around carrying such signs and wearing guns and ammo, you're free speech isn't being thwarted or denied in any way. What does having or not having a gun have to do with patriotism? Not a thing.

I didn't meet one person today who wanted to take all guns away. Not one. Everyone respected the Second Amendment although there was definite discussion on what the Amendment really says and supports (um, not assault weapons).

What we want is regulation. Background checks. Insurance. Education. Training. Safety.

We want perpetrators of domestic violence to NOT be allowed guns. We want mentally ill citizens to be vetted thoroughly before being given firearms. We see no need for enormous magazines and widespread ownership of assault weapons. We want NRA board members to stop saying things like, "If a man can't rape his wife, then who can he rape?"

We do not want guns in our kindergartens or on our college campuses, in our churches or in bars. We do not want our communities militarized. And we are tired of seeing hate militarized in the ways it too often is (see Dylann Roof's massacre of blacks at the Emanual AME Church in Charleston, see Omar Mateen's massacre of LGBTQ folks at Pulse Nightclub, etc)

This isn't a zero sum game. And a huge majority of Americans do want stricter gun regulation. Some can have guns and others can feel safe; both can exist simultaneously. But not in the current situation. 

The march began around 11:45. The heat index had pushed the temp above 100, and the migraine I've had since Tuesday remained lodged in my skull. My friend and I started off but ultimately decided to head home. 18 miles is a long trek, and I have five guests arriving tomorrow morning. I wish I'd been able to march the whole way. Footage from the arrival at the DOJ is very moving. Here's a summary article with some videos and stills. 

But I feel like I'm doing my part in the ways I can: financially, with my voice, with my time, with my feet. Hopefully you are doing your parts too, about the issues you care and are concerned about. 

Cleaning out my recipe trove and watching Wimbledon- a trip through time

I'm skipping yoga and spending today at home. The boys are at camp, it's hot as get-out outside, I have desperately needed to clean out my recipe files and transfer them into the organizer I bought three years ago, AND Wimbledon is on and Roger is playing.

Growing up, watching Wimbledon every July was one of my family's favorite ways to spend time and time together. We'd make "nests" of blankets and pillows on the floor in front of our TV and tuck in for days of good tennis. Weekends were the best because Dad was usually home. I remember the times he was on call, and his beeper pinged; he'd call in and answer clearly and responsibly, but his eyes never left the TV screen.

Periodically, someone would take one for the team and get up to fetch snacks and drinks. There were stretching and bathroom breaks too, but for the most part, if our favorites were playing, we were enthused fans glued to every point. Lendl, Edberg, Agassi, Graf, Sampras, Navratilova. We could not tolerate Martina Hingis's scream which sounded like Henri! after every whack. I can track my childhood with tennis players and tournaments.

Nanny would often come watch with us although she stuck to  an upright chair rather than the floor. When she couldn't drive anymore or didn't want to go out, she'd watch from her house, and we'd chat via phone periodically. She and I always loved the same players, most notably Pete Sampras; we both called him Petey and loved him even though some said he was cocky and others said he was a dim bulb. That man could play some tennis, y'all.

When Tom and I had been dating just a few months, a friend gave me tickets to the US Open. I called Tom with mad excitement: "Honey, I have tickets to the Sampras-Agassi match. Can you fly up?" Because we were young and unencumbered (and he was still in DC and I in NY) and he has a kazillion frequent flier miles because he was a consultant then, he did come up, and he and I and two friends watched that epic men's singles final: 6–3, 6–4, 5–7, 6–4, Sampras. It was Petey's last pro game.

I called Nanny during it, thankful for my relatively new cell phone. After Sampras retired, Nanny and I took up with Roger Federer, or Rogie. You see a nickname theme here. Until she died, Nanny watched tennis, and I would always call her at least once when our boyfriend played. 

The past few weeks haven't been much slower than those surrounding the end of school. And so today, when I saw my Rogie would be playing Raonic in the quarter-finals, I decided to cancel everything on my schedule, stay home and watch for old time's sakes, and enjoy some quiet stillness. I am a bit stressed because Raonic beat Rogie last year in the Wimbledon semis, and I was heartbroken. Hopefully today will boast a different outcome because let's face it, Rogie isn't getting younger and will surely retire soon.

Going to Wimbledon is on my bucket list, and although I'll probably never seen Roger play, I'll get to see his name listed as the winner for so many years (Petey too) and will just be thrilled to wander around those hallowed grounds, a place that has meant much to me over the years.

While waiting for the match to start, I've started sorting through my recipe files and kept Wimbledon on in the background. Querrey beat Murray (WOOT! I am NOT a fan of Murray, and also America could really use a bit of good news right now), and Cilic and Muller are duking it out in the fifth set now.

I didn't expect to find that as tennis helps me track my life in some ways, so too do my recipe files. 

I've just thrown out a good 90% of the Cooking Light recipes I clipped long ago before Jack was born. Those are from a time of rigidity that I neither wish nor need to return to. I've gingerly transferred old favorites, some from Nanny and others from friends, into plastic sleeves for safer keeping. I love looking back over the notes I've taken on dishes- whether they work as written, what I've changed, what I loved.

<HOLD UP- Rogie and Raonic are into the second set already, and Rogie is on fire. GENIUS playing. And his legs. Meow!>

I found the little yellow pamphlet I got at the Reston, VA, Whole Foods when Jack was a baby. It included a recipe for sweet potato pancakes, little orange silver dollars of health, that I cooked for Jack for years. I'd make stacks and stacks and freeze what he didn't scarf down, hoping they'd last at least a few days before I needed to get out my griddle once more.

I've contemplated my favorite cauliflower recipes and discarded those that don't make the cut. Tom is not a cauliflower fan (unless I curry it, and neither are the kids, so I don't make the veggie as often as I might like. I can tell that I've been through beet, sunchoke, pea, and bulgur phases. I see that I don't make nearly as many soups as I've ever intended and that at the end of the day, I rarely follow recipes which is why so many of these hopefully, lovingly clipped ideas have remained just that.

And I see that over all these years, since first learning to cook by Nanny's side, I've gotten to be a really good cook, one whose roots and preferences remain clear. I like good, clean, real, well-seasoned food, and I like to make it for those I love.

OMG, y'all! ROGER just beat Raonic handily AND Djokovic had to retire because of injury. Lawd a'mercy, maybe Roger will win one more. Go, Rogie, go. Do it for Nanny!

Alexandra Fuller and white supremacy

I have written about Alexandra Fuller before, once after reading Cocktail Hour Under the Tree of Forgetfulness, and again after reading and loving Leaving Before the Rains Come (although I cannot find mention of that). Alas. If I didn't, I should have.

Do you know her work? She is a gifted memoirist who has written several terrifically-titled books about growing up in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), the daughter of somewhat dysfunctional, probably alcoholic white Brits who decamped to central Africa and lived and farmed there for most of their lives. During Fuller's childhood, there were just 100,000 whites in Rhodesia and 6 million blacks. Her parents fought for white rule. At age 6, Fuller was taught to use an Uzi and the difference between firing to kill and firing to maim. An effigy of a black Rhodesian was her target.

I have been wholly engaged by all of her work (the first I read was Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight, then Cocktail Hour... and most recently, Leaving Before the Rains Come). Not only is memoir one of my favorite genres, but I am drawn like a moth to the brightest light to people who cast an unsparingly honest eye on themselves and then share their truths and lessons learned so that others might better see and understand themselves, might be moved toward such honest reflection, and then might grow and change and share accordingly. Fuller offers us chances like these.

And so last week, just before we headed out of town, when I saw that she would be discussing her new book, Quiet Until the Thaw, at Politics and Prose (my favorite bookstore in DC) on July 5, I marked the date and highlighted it on my calendar. I knew I'd be pooped from travel, knew I'd be tired from the 4th and Jack's birthday, knew we had a full day prior to Fuller's 7pm event. But I also knew I couldn't miss it.

And I didn't. Tom got home at 6, and I hauled it out of the house to get to P&P and secure myself a seat. Front row, y'all! #alwaysastudent

This is not an important observation, but Alexandra is stunningly, naturally beautiful. She glows, radiant with health and wisdom. Which can be disarming.

And then she starts talking, that gorgeous sort-of-British, sort-of-African lilt rolling from her tongue like sensuous waves. If you aren't listening, you might be lulled. If you are, you immediately sit at attention, for Alexandra Fuller is pissed. 

She began with a poem by Freedom Nyamubaya, a woman, a farmer, a poet, an activist, a high-ranking general in the Zimbabwe National Liberation Army. She died in 2015 at the age of 55, but before, she penned A Mysterious Marriage, a tale of Freedom and Independence.

And then she read from Dr. Yolanda Pierce's stunning A Litany For Those Who Aren't Ready For Healing.

Let us not offer false equivalencies, thereby diminishing the particular pain being felt in a particular circumstance in a particular historical moment.

Let us not speak of reconciliation without speaking of reparations and restoration, or how we can repair the breach and how we can restore the loss.

Let us not rush past the loss of this mother's child, this father's child...someone's beloved son.

Let us not value property over people; let us not protect material objects while human lives hang in the balance.

Let us not value a false peace over a righteous justice.

Let us not be afraid to sit with the ugliness, the messiness, and the pain that is life in community together.

Let us not offer clichés to the grieving, those whose hearts are being torn asunder.

You really should read the whole thing. Please do.

Fuller noted that she has spoken at Politics & Prose upon release of each of her books. "I've been here through four presidents, and whatever this is," she said, acknowledging the present. And, "I grew up under four dictators, two on the left, two on the right, and this is that."

We are in trouble, y'all. America is at a crossroads. The KKK has planned a march on Charlottesville, VA, this Saturday and have announced their intent to be fully armed. Purportedly, liberals are attempting to "erase the white culture right out of the history books.” and they need to stand up against this travesty.

People, please. This country was founded by stealing, violently, others' land. Do you know that of the more than 370 treaties and deals and agreements the US has made with its native peoples, it has altered, ignored, and/or reneged on ALL of them? Canada and Australia, among others, have treated (and continue to treat) their indigenous people with equivalent ugliness.

This country was built on the backs of kidnapped people, men, women, and children forcibly taken from their homes and treated as inhuman property whose sole use in this world was to work and be abused for free. When finally we "freed" them, we paid reparations only to their white owners. 

Zimbabwe, once Rhodesia, emerged from the same crucible. White settlers took land, averred it was rightfully theirs because of black inferiority and all, and then fought to the death to keep it when resistance reared its head. 

So many of the dominant narratives around the world reflect this brutal relationship of whites to blacks, light skin to dark skin. And yet we do not listen. We didn't then, we don't now. As Alexandra noted, "There is no such thing as the voiceless, just the preferably unheard."

She tells of growing up the daughter of undeniably dynamic, hardworking people she loved (and loves) dearly. But as she sees now, they are also people who believed in white superiority and worked to maintain its hold on the country they made home. 

Many Americans find themselves part of the same familial tradition. Each of us can accept that and attempt to disable our own role in the perpetuation of a racist society or we can continue to ignore and enable it. Where did the birtherism movement come from if not from whites attempting to discredit America's first black president thus invalidating his success and maintaining a hold on their own power? Where does our racist criminal justice system emerge and grow from if not an attempt to keep the black man down? Where did redlining come from if not an attempt to keep blacks out of "white" neighborhoods? (It should be noted that Donald Trump and his father were both sued for discriminatory rental practices and proved to have racially profiled and refused black applicants.) What is the gargantuan wealth disparity in our country but a systemic effort to privilege a few at the expense of many?

As Fuller read and Huxley said, "Liberties can never be given, they can only be taken away." Further, Alexandra observed from years of personal experience that a sizable "wealth disparity in any country is an arrangement between the government and the military." The socioeconomic gaps in America aren't getting smaller. I'm just saying.

Ultimately, she did talk about Quiet Until the Thaw, a novelistic effort to further deconstruct the primary narrative surrounding white and native Americans. At this point, "I would prefer my audiences sweating bullets...This is no time to be complacent. Never mistake your comfort for your security...Read, write, think, question."

I bought the new book and she signed it (as well as the copy of Leaving Before the Rains Come that I'd brought), and I had the chance to thank her for being an important presence in my life. To thank her for writing books I needed to read. "Well, I needed to write them." she replied with a smile.

I smiled in return before leaving, too late to avoid the precipitation blanketing DC that night. As I walked to my car, rain drops spattering my face and dress, I gave thanks for meeting Alexandra briefly, for living in a place that enables easy access to fascinating people who broaden and inspire my world, for my parents who taught my sister and me that the world is big and we are but bits in it, for my husband who got home on time so I could go do something exciting. I gave thanks to all of those working so hard to resist the craven, ignorant, cruel wannabe who is leading this country nowhere good, and I renewed my commitment to asking the hard questions, answering them honestly, and doing the work that needs to be done.