I'm Worried About Josiah--A Little One's Concern

Philando Castile was the supervisor at our school's cafeteria, one of two black men who provided a constant, gentle presence in our kid's lives. 503 kids, about 30 of them African-American with another 7% Somali and others who are Oromo and Ethiopian--so, say, 40% of our kids are black. 

The other person is--well, I'll call him Josiah. He works with our special needs kids and is the only person I thought to ask to babysit for my special needs child one summer--instead, Josiah volunteered to work--for free--with a child who was profoundly struggling in school, with a single mother who had no funds at all, either for child care or support services for her little boy. Josiah chose, that summer, to work two jobs, one non-paying, because the kid needed him and responded well to Josiah's quiet persistance. Because that's the kind of man Josiah is. A man like Philando was--a man who cared deeply about children and made them his life's work. The kind of man all children need to be around. 

Yesterday, my little one asked about Josiah. "I haven't seen him. We've seen Vanessa," Phil's coworker in the cafeteria. We've seen Phil's mother and his uncle, but we haven't seen Josiah. "And he could be killed, like Mr. Phil," said my little one. 

My little one says things and the wave hits me. I'm so grateful that I have the time and the luxury and the experiences of being around people of different races--being family to people of different races--being comfortable talking and listening about not just race and bigotry but also that I can listen to my child's emotion. 

We have to make certain that the children at our school--the children of our country--get the same kind of listening and talking. Our future stands in the balance and the time for changing our world, for healing our world, is now. 

It's Beyond Her Comprehension--That's No Longer A Good Enough Excuse.

Photo attribution from Pioneer Press. 

Falcon Heights, the small suburban municipality where Philando Castile was shot by during a faked traffic stop, for Driving While Black and Legally Armed, has had it's second town hall meeting, and did they get an earful from residents and visitors of color. 

According to the Pioneer Press, "black residents and neighbors told horror stories of frequent, frightening traffic stops while some white residents confessed they witnessed unequal treatment but did nothing about it." 

But some members of the Falcon Heights City council are having a hard time wrapping their minds around what it's like to Drive While Black in their community. 

Several people walked out when Randy Gustafson said he still didn't know enough about what happened to take action--perhaps he was speaking about Philando's murder, or maybe he was just telling all those prior speakers to their faces that he didn't believe them. 

Council member Pamela Harris said it was "beyond my comprehension" that black people were treated so badly on Falcon Heights streets--despite what she was hearing at the meeting. 

So, let's give her the benefit of the doubt. Let's assume that this comment was the messy, verbal equivalent of an "Oh, my!" Let's assume that she is thus completely tone deaf and did not realize she had just erased the experiences of everyone who had spoken out about police harassment of people of color under her watch. 

Either way, it is no longer acceptable to pretend you're living in the 1950's while Jim Crow policing goes on in 2016. I am not a resident of Falcon Heights, but I would happily sign a petition calling for all of them to resign. 

Fortunately, someone has started one. "If that's how unaware you are, you're not qualified to represent my city," Paula Milke said of her petition. 

As always, Philando's mother spoke with grace and calm--much like her son, Phil.  Valerie Castile told council members that Phil got a lot of traffic tickets because he was devoted to his job and "his children"--the kids he fed--and he needed to drive to get to work.   "It's just unfortunate that this happened in your backyard," she said to the council and then turned to the black men and women in the audience. "Any one of you could be Philando." 

She is more generous than I. Given the kind of policing organization that Falcon Heights hired and the racial profiling that Falcon Heights allowed to take place, particularly along that stretch of Larpenteur, I side more with an unnamed Baptist minister who spoke to the group. 

"You have permitted a black man to be killed out there," he shouted at the council as he rose to leave. "Get the blood off your hands! You have blood on your hands, every one of you. Get the blood off your hands, mayor!" And he left, followed by most of the African-Americans in his audience. 

We all have to get this to change, not just in Falcon Heights, not just in the Twin Cities, not just in Minnesota, not just in the Midwest--in the entire United States of America. We have to get this blood off our hands. We must. For Phil. 

It's Not Just A Detail If It's Your Kid--

This was the moment that stood out for me from Hillary Clinton's acceptance speech. 

"So it's true. I sweat the details of policy – whether we're talking about the exact level of lead in the drinking water in Flint, Michigan, the number of mental health facilities in Iowa, or the cost of your prescription drugs.

"Because it's not just a detail if it's your kid - if it's your family.

"It's a big deal. And it should be a big deal to your president, too." 

Philando Castile is a big deal. His death at the hands of a trigger-happy officer who saw blackness as danger is a big deal for his family, his friends, his mother, his colleagues, for every kid at our school and for all of their parents. 

A refugee denied asylum is not just a detail. A black woman earning 60% of her white counter-point is not just a detail--her family had to live off that much lower salary.  Like Clinton, I could go on and on.  A special needs kid denied an education is not just a detail--I did not know that Hillary Rodham Clinton was largely responsible for the IDEA laws that allowed my little one to go to school and consider as a friend, a child with Down's syndrome, and allowed my older child to do the same with someone pretty far out the autism spectrum.  

Maybe it isn't true that His eye is on the sparrow. (It's hard as a Holocaust survivor family, to accept that the eyes of God were on us as our children were gassed.)  But our eyes can be upon each other. Together, we can pay attention to the details of our world and work to heal them together. 

Are You There, Philando? If So, Give Me Five

My little one said when she was alone three nights ago, she held her hand in the air. She demonstrated, hand above her head  palm forward and out. 

"If you're there," she told the space around her, "Give me five." 

"For a ghost?" I asked. 

"For Mr. Phil. He always gave us five in the mornings when we walked through the breakfast line." Philando Castile. 

"But he wasn't there," she said. "He'll never be there again. I'll never see him again." 

I felt that familiar rush of tears and hot grief. "No, sweetie, we'll never see him again." And I pulled her into a tight hug--for her comfort and for my own.  

Welcome To Readers in Russia. Добро пожаловать на читателей в России

Suddenly, many Russians are reading my blog. Welcome to you. I am glad to have you here. I hope you enjoy the information about our smallish city in the United States, and that you will feel free to comment about books, child-rearing, 

 music and race and bigotry. The closest we come to Russian connections are family who spent time in labor camps in Siberia and also in salt mines in Khazakstan during WWII. (Not exactly cheery memories, though they did bring back some folk songs.) 

If anyone else had family in salt mines in Khazakstan, I would love to learn more about their experiences. We are Jews and that might change how things were experienced. And please forgive my Google translate. Thank you.

The closest we come to Russian The closest The closest we come to Russian connections are family who spent time during WWII in labor camps in Siberia and also working in the salt mines in Khazakstan. (Not exactly cheery memories, though they did bring back some folk songs.) 

If anyone else had family in salt mines in Khazakstan, I would love to learn more about their experiences. Thank you. We are Jews, and that might influence how things were experienced. 

Внезапно , многие россияне читают мой блог . Добро пожаловать к вам. Я рад , что ты здесь . Я надеюсь, что вы наслаждаетесь информацией о нашем небольшом городе в Соединенных Штатах , и что вы будете чувствовать себя свободно комментировать книги, воспитание детей , музыки и расы и фанатизма .  

Ближе мы подходим к российским соединений являются семьи, которые проводили время в трудовых лагерях в Сибири , а также в соляных шахтах в Khazakstan во время Второй мировой войны . ( Не совсем радостные воспоминания , хотя они вернуть некоторые народные песни . )

Если кто-то имел семью в соляных шахтах в Khazakstan , я хотел бы узнать больше о своем опыте . Мы евреи , и это может измениться , как были испытаны вещи . И, пожалуйста, простите мой Google Translate . Спасибо.

At Last The Truth From A Police Officer's Mouth.

http://thinkprogress.org/justice/2016/07/22/3801048/police-body-slam-elementary-school-teacher/

For those who claim that it's because of anything but racism--this white officer puts it right out in the open, talking to a school teacher who asks the right questions--after she has been incredibly brutalized by a white police officer. I hate to ask you to watch the video. It's like PTSD. It's sickening. 

Why Did Kipling Write The Jungle Book Inside Out?

I'm having the profound pleasure of reading the Jungle Book out loud. And because we're using the edition with Nicola Bayley, there are imaginative visual treasures, too. Even my big kid can be lured into the delights, even when said child is tired and grumpy. That's the power of the premise, the characters, and racing plot. 

And yet--reading it (repeatedly--my little one wants me to start at the beginning as soon as we are done) I am very aware of Kipling's structure. So--for all you writers and readers out there, help me figure this one out. Why does Kipling write Mowgli's story inside out? 

First, we watch a baby wandering the wolves cave. As Mother Wolf--Rakshi, the Demon--falls in love with this newest baby, the lame tiger, Shere Khan, snarls outside the door, unable to come in because of the size of his great head. 
Then, we grow up with Mowgli, into the paradise that is his home, scratches and bites and bear smacks and all. We meet Akela, the great wolf, Baloo and Bagheera, and of course, the cowardly tiger, Shere Khan, the Lame One, who happens to be an orange bully with a big mouth who gets others to fight his battles for him or else he feasts on cattle and humans, i.e. those who cannot fight back. 

We learn all of this through prose and poetry--something I'm delighted that my children now insist on reading out loud themselves, with relish, as we pass the book back and forth. 

We also meet the lesser wonders--Ikki, the porcupine, Tabaqui, the jackal. We learn the laws of the jungle--laws showing respect and fairness (at this point). And Mowgli's paradise is made better by his human ability to learn other's speech and to stare down all within it, which he considers a game. 

But those who live within the jungle do not find Mowgli's abilities a game, something the bully, Shere Khan, plays on when Akela begins to grow old. 


So Mowgli, advised by Bagheera, goes to man to get the Red Flower--fire. He saves Akela's life, but, feeling the pain of profound rejection for the very first time, he is forced to leave and join another klan--man. 

Middle of story, right? We're at the peak of that ark. Clearly, what comes next will be the slide down--either Shere Khan eating Mowlgi or Mowgli killing Shere Khan. 

Except here, instead of racing to the showdown, Kipling veers backward, into idyll, and instead, we learn of Mowgli's wonderful, terrifying kidnapping by the banderlog--the monkey tribe, who think they are the most important creatures on earth and who are always bragging about what they're going to do--until they forget to do it and instead, race off to do something else. This is an incredible story on its own. The banderlog, who are funny, chilling, make us fear for Mowgli's life, and that of Baloo, and Bagheera. Plus, we meet Chil, the kite, the blind cobras, and a thirty-foot, near-sighted python named Kaa, and the the abandoned city of a great king, far in the jungle
where Mowgli is ultimately rescued. And we watch as Bagheera and Baloo nearly walk down the hypnotic path that leads to Kaa's belly. (It seems only Mowgli, the man-cub, is immune.)

Then, bam, we're back in the original story arc, back in the village, where Mowgli must learn to fit in--picking up man-speak within three months, and plotting with his brother wolves and Akela to kill Shere Khan. 

But Mowgli's success at this venture leads the man people to believe that Mowgli is a sorcerer who can become animals at will, so they, too, cast him out. Though the ending is happy, it is also about having nowhere to belong--neither with the Man clan nor the Wolf clan. 

It is, perhaps, a story about being a writer. 

So--many of you guys and all of you guys read. Kipling could have easily folded the banderlog tail--er tale--into its proper place in a linear plot, and yet he doesn't. Those of us who watch various film or theater versions watch it in a linear way. 

So--why did Kipling flip part of it into the middle? Would you have written it that way? I'm not sure I would have, though honestly, I would flat out love to write something that is as clean and pure and dreamily gut-real as Rudyard Kipling's The Jungle Book.