Unexplained Phenomena - Race, Class and Health Care in America

Really? Are you kidding me? What is going on America? You people can't possibly believe our health care system works as it is. I think the absence of a genuine discussion about health care reform is about something else entirely, but are we as a nation ready to talk about it?

It has something to do with why, at one point in this country, it was constitutionally sound to consider some of the people living here less than human. I would even go so far as to say it might have something to do why a Harvard professor can get arrested in his own home by an officer who is responsible for his precinct's racial sensitivity training. And dare I say it? I think it has something to do with why people think it's ok to carry automatic assault weapons to presidential assemblies, and why said people are not being arrested, harassed or otherwise antagonized by law enforcement agents.

I know it sounds as if I'm going to over simplify the issue and say it's about racism. I am, after all, a Black American woman and everyone knows we love to play the race card, right?

Well, if I were to place that ace on the table, it would be hard to dispute. I could tell you the story of my father's family who were sharecroppers in rural GA growing cotton and sugarcane on land the family had once worked as slave labor. Under the sharecropping system, they were never able to make enough to live on. Furthermore, only 3 out of 13 kids were able to attend school. My father was one of the 3 but he failed 5th grade because he had to work the land.

Long story short, my grandfather buckled under the fiscal strain and actually tried to kill himself by shooting himself in the head. The problem is he didn't die right away. They took him to the hospital but he was sent to the back door because he was black. They left him at the back door for several hours and by the time they let him in it was too late.

But here's the thing. Racism may have killed my grandfather, but racism lives because of a much larger illness. I believe there is a collective neurosis we as human beings have inherited that says some people have more inherent value, and by extension more rights, than others. Although I'm no expert, I believe this unexplained phenomenon occurs even in homogeneous cultures that don't necessarily carry the weight of centuries of racially driven indecencies that this country bears. So although I won't blame our health care crisis on racism, I sure can use that strange little institution to elucidate a larger dilemma.

There was a time in this country where a "federal ratio" declared certain people "3/5ths" the value of other people to protect financial and political interests. The ratio was originally proposed so that Southern states could be taxed "according to their numbers and their wealth "(Jefferson), but was ultimately adopted so as to procure the Southern states more congressional representation, according to their numbers, as it were.

I am sad to admit that when I was taught about the "Three-fifths compromise" in grade school, it made perfect sense to me. "Of course the slaves shouldn't be counted as full people," I thought. I followed the logic of both sides and found it a completely reasonable solution. I even equated myself with the population that was being declared "less than fully human" as described by some accounts, and never registered a single chill in my spine at the notion.

(On a side note, I recall covering this material in social studies and history classes at the ages of 6, 9, 11 and 13. I can't say the "that was then, this is now" consolation was all that effective at such an impressionable time in my life.)

Now, as a thinking adult, I have to say I find it appalling for one class of people to presume they have the authority to come to some consensual agreement, for whatever reason, over another's value, especially when the calculation is to serve an end as coarse and gauche as taxation or political gain.

I would assert that we still live the legacy of such reasoning. In regards to health care, where once it was acceptable to determine your inherent value and therefore access based on race, later it became about class. If you were affluent or gainfully employed, you could have access to care. If you were poor and/or unemployed, sorry. Now it has progressed even further, if you are affluent, gainfully employed full-time and have never been sick, hooray! You're in the club. Otherwise, tant-pis!

From the corporate point of view, they're protecting their bottom line like the North attempting to tax the South, and guess what? the bottom line is more important than the lives of the people who need healing. Nowadays, it is not uncommon for an insured person to pay premiums regularly (money they will never see again if nothing ever goes wrong), pay their co-pay at the doctor's office, and then be denied coverage for the very medicine or treatment their degreed and licensed medical professional prescribes. I read a recent account where an insurance company declared anesthesia for knee surgery an "unnecessary procedure." Well admittedly I was not there, but somehow I doubt that back in the Civil War, they made amputees, civilian or otherwise, pay for the vodka, whiskey or moonshine they poured down their throats before the doctors took their limbs.

From the social point of view, both the "haves" and "have nots" are so afraid of "not having enough" that we navigate the issues from a fear and separatist based "poverty mentality," sub-consciously turning to our inherited neurosis to support our right to be afraid. Even if our children are no longer being raised to believe their different raced neighbor has different colored blood, they are not protected from the other, more socially acceptable ways in which we judge and assess each other's worth.

We (and by we, I mean those of us who want to let the broken system keep getting worse) still think we have the right to declare which lives are worth healing, and from my experience we're a pretty judgmental bunch. Have you listened to how some of these conversations go? A lot of the arguments I've heard against health care reform are about how they, as tax payers, shouldn't be responsible for certain people's care: the smoker, the alcoholic, the fat lady, etc.

I see at least a few gaps here:
1. It ignores all the people who don't fall into one of those categories.
2. It implies that people who did not have leave it to beaver lifestyles and meal plans should be shiz-out-of-luck if they ever get sick.
3. It presupposes that a public option paid for by taxes is the only possible solution.
4. It doesn't address the abuses already in practice by the industry.
5. It ignores the fact that we all end up paying for it one way or another...

We are afraid of each other and we don't care enough about each other's well being to get over it. I think the industry takes advantage of our confusion because it makes real change that much harder to accomplish. We are indirectly protecting the "industry" of health care while deflecting it's primary purpose which is to generate, provide and assist in efforts pertaining to health and care.

Let's face it. We are in an entangled, dynamic system. My question is how do we engage that truth in a way that actually works?

At this point, I don't think anyone could convince me that our current health care system works. We've all had experiences to the contrary, and we get sad, maybe even angry, but we don't get outraged. We don't say "Are you kidding me?" We don't demand the fundamental ideological changes that would turn the whole thing inside out.

Why is this? Why isn't health care a civil rights issue? Why isn't it tied to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness?" Why are so many Americans so desperate not to rock this leaky bucket of a boat?

They tell me the issue is money and politics, corporate structures and power, and that the media is feeding the frenzy because they are a part of those structures. Well, haven't we been here before? Our system has been deciding for decades what race and what class of person was worthy of care, and what degree of care they should be allowed. That entire line of reasoning has always been corrupt, and has now brought us to a place where everyone is at risk of a ridiculous decision being made by a desk clerk bureaucrat to protect a corporate entity's bottom line.

I think WE are the ones who must create this change. WE are the ones responsible. The president WE elected is not going to accomplish it, and why should he even bother since WE THE PEOPLE seem to be on the fence about whether or not WE want health care reform?

WE THE PEOPLE have navigated impenetrable canyons and brought water to barren lands. WE THE PEOPLE upended the major financial and social institution of slavery because it was the right thing to do. We have the resources to make this happen. The steps are very simple. First we must decide that creating a system that grants ample access to health care to everyone is the right thing to do. Then we decide how to do it.

We are good, strong people. So what gives?

Songs related to this article:
Winona Laduke from The Shiz - Where We Stand
Wednesday's Child from Sleeper's Wake

The Road to Recovery

I don't know if everyone knows this but Liz and I (Lilli) started The Shiz under relative duress. I mean to say, when we decided to ditch Phoenix, AZ on account of Liz's first real brush with bigotry back in January 2009, we felt pretty lost in the world. We landed in Hammond, LA, a place you only land when it was also the place from which you launched, and thought "What the hell? We've got nothing left to lose. Let's start a band."

We were pretty shaken, but we thought the situation gave us an opportunity to build our reality from the ground up. Here were the objectives:

1. Place ourselves in an environment where at least a half-dozen people feel immediately compelled to treat us with kindness.


2. Secure a living space that has warmth and personality but doesn't require we sell all of our time to the highest bidder.


3. Empower ourselves by listening to our inner wisdom and making something out of
   whatever it speaks.


4. Engage in creative work that is rich with truth, love and light vibrations (yes, I sound like a hippie, I know) as an offering to the world around us.


5. Minimize on the time spent doing things we simply don't want to do.


6. Smile and laugh as much as possible.

I'm sure there were others but these were the fundamentals.

The truth is Hammond is the last place I thought I wanted to live, but in the time we've been in Louisiana we've seen our family grow. We've seen unlikely relationships foster healing where hope was all but lost. We've watched people we love struggle socially, mentally, emotionally and financially. We've experienced satisfaction. We've wanted more from our families, our band, each other. We've been broke. We've experienced abundance. We've been bored. We've been silly. We've been productive. We've procrastinated. We've watched our minds and the minds of
loved ones turn experience into distortion. We've felt anxious pangs tighten our chest, causing the natural rise and fall of the chest to draw too much attention to itself and betray our fears and yearning.

It's been six months (give or take) and here's what I've learned so far:

1. Life is everywhere. Not just in the mountains. Not just in the city. Everywhere.


2. I can't save anyone from their suffering. They can't save me from mine.


3. Love is a good thing, but it only goes so far.


4. Laughter is my best friend.


5. Music is magic. I am proud to be a music maker.


6. I really like Band of Skulls

...
I'm sure there is more, but those are the fundamentals.

Songs related to this post from Where We Stand
Good As Gold

And the Walls Come a Tumblin' Down

4 States:
Massachusetts
Connecticut
Iowa
Vermont

Who's next?

Tall as Our Fathers

Blasted by our first blatant bash with discrimination, my wife and I have returned to her hometown to regroup. Thankfully, her father is a civil rights attorney and is able to help us navigate the aftermath.

Still, the first few days here were pretty hard for me. I think it may have been because we had spent several months planning for our move to the southwest. Everyone we had told about the move had experienced our news as a no-brainer. Everyone knew she belonged in wilderness therapy. Everyone knew she belonged in the desert. She felt like she was finally ready to take flight, only to land flat on her face. We returned home hopeful, but even though we knew we hadn't done anything wrong, we quickly came to feel the almost inevitable pangs of disappointment, humiliation and that certain je ne sais quoi feeling you get being openly gay in small-town USA.

So what gives?

I know the last time we lived here for any length of time, we ended up in self-censoring ourselves to protect the town soccer moms from witnessing unsettling expressions of gay affection. My wife (then fiance) loved working with the kids so much that for a time she decided she would rather not be in a relationship at all then to have to face the awkward conversations and potential scrutiny that might arise from our being out. In a town where if everyone didn't know each other, they sure seemed to know her, it meant that I ended up feeling like some random vagabond/lingerer/hanger on with no identity of my own and no known reason for hanging around her or her family. Can we say lame? I think we can.

Our lens is totally different this time, but I can't help re-living some of those sorrier moments in self-awareness (or lack thereof) as I question the deceptive comfort of these familiar streets. I experience a ominous anonymity every time her father introduces me by first and last name instead of by a title that implies some relation to the family, and disheartened by the diatribe about "temperance" he offers upon inquiry. "We have to move slowly with these people. I have a sense about these things. If you want to be seen as partners, why don't you act like it? How about a song and dance?" Yes, this coming from a civil rights attorney and known community activist.

Now, I know a lot of the people reading this are already in my choir, but before the choir starts singing back at the preacher about the nature of these comments, let me remind you that he is not alone when in comes to people with integrity professing less-than-enlightened rhetoric around managing the "queer" issue. Even the dreamy, brilliant, forward thinking president we swore in yesterday appears to have no commitment to truly honoring "gay" commitments. Why is it that the even the strong of heart have a hard time seeing us as people, and speaking accordingly?

Last night at the dinner table, my wife's 18 year old brother questioned his mother's reference to Rick Warren as "homophobic" on the grounds that Rev. Warren's stance on homosexuality is based on biblical teachings and that speaking out against homosexuality is Rev. Warren's duty as a minister to his followers. He further argued that the term homophobia implies fear, and that Rev. Warren has not demonstrated fear of gay people. Now if you want to speak technically, which my brother outlaw was in fact attempting to do, "homophobic" would mean "fear of man," and in broad terms I believe we've all been afraid of our species at one point or another.

Knowing this is not the kind of fear he had in mind, I had to agree with him that disdain, intolerance and ignorance are indeed not the same as fear. In fact, the people I know who are most afraid of gayness are gay people, at least that's true where I'm from. It doesn't mean we hate ourselves, but it does mean we often carry a visceral fear around what it means to be gay in a persistently hostile environment.

For example, ask your average straight, god-fearing, "homophobic" person the worse thing they could imagine happening if they were to inadvertently stumble upon a gay person. Perhaps they might suffer the awkward circumstance of an unwanted advance from someone for whom they hold no attraction. Worse yet, perhaps they might experience an earth-shatteringly unexpected urge for reciprocity. Suppose some extra hot dyke was in fact able to seduce your virginal, pious daughter. Is that really so bad?

If the tables are turned and a reverse question is asked of queer people (especially of the transgender variety), many will tell you they fear being beaten, stabbed or killed. Ask a closeted teen why they haven't brought their new boyfriend home to meet the 'rents and find out how many of them hold the fear of losing their home or family. Ask your discreet friend at work why they never bring their partner to the company picnic. Ask your flaming choir director why he never brings his lover to church. There are immeasurable fears being held by innumerable people at this very moment. You may know their faces but may not have registered the experience of living their truth as warranting fear.

So I agree that "homophobia" may be a misnomer, and I've taken to using another word from the grand American lexicon: bigotry. It's short, simple, to the point. It cuts clean like "fag," "dyke," and "queer." Everyone can infer its meaning without having to look it up, and it saves me from conversations like the one at last nights dinner.

Wait. That's not what I want, because something amazing happened at last night's dinner. In the face of our little conflict, my wife's father sat in his seat at the head of the table and started waxing poetic about the Jungian symbolism present in Wagner's Ring Cycle. Quoting Robert Donington, he said "The self is the totality of the psyche, and its interests require us to accept as much of ourselves as we can, not least on the shadow side." He said we are all purposed here and no journey or point of view is greater or lesser than any other. Now again, choir, you are nodding your heads because you know this one... "Yeah yeah, golden rule, etc. and so forth. I got that." But this phenomenal ideal always manages to mean something revolutionary when invoked in applicable context.

That being the case, everyone found their own subtle ways to vacate the table until I was the only one who remained, captured by the weight of his words and staid by my inner-self's yearning to rise to meet their meaning: that each of our stories, mine, my punk brother outlaw and all the others, have their own place; that no one, not even a bigot, can diminish the purpose or display of my being, and furthermore, that it is not my place to seek to diminish anyone else's. As the 44th President boldly suggested in his inaugural address yesterday afternoon, I will not apologize for my way of life, for my journey is great and the great "I" is required to accept as much of itself as it can, not least on the shadow side.

Adventures in Babysitting

So I've been avoiding this whole blog phenom for years now but I am finally emerging from the dark musty dregs of my proverbial blogger's closet. I am, and have always been, just as opinionated as your average blogger, but until now, I have tended to reserve my ramblings and musings for the innocent and unsuspecting roommate, neighbor or passerby. My soapbox is full of bubbles, mostly a relentless barrage of questions for quirks in reasoning. The aim is to show that our linear attempts at rationality are mostly just shots in the dark. I know too well how sometimes, like in a good Johnny Cash cover, that gun can go off in our hands, slaying the rider while the horse runs on without him. It is just such an event that has inspired this cry in the dark wild wilderness of the wide blog abyss.

See, my wife loves nature. Every time she sees a hawk on a branch on the side of the highway her eyes ignite with that primal crystal clarity that says "I've been your story Mr. Hawk and I wanna go flying." Everywhere she travels from Colorado to the Carolinas she climbs whatever mountain or hill or dune she can find to get her bird's eye view of this thing called creation as if to say "it is good" to a mystery of her very own design. She walks the way of a quiet sage, seeking balance with her surroundings and carrying a subtle, peaceful Knowing alongside in her trusty Columbian shoulder bag.

She also loves children. She loves the way the little ones stare at you because they haven't learned yet that it's inappropriate not to look away. She loves that six year old boys have a sound effect for everything (which she in turn loves to imitate) and how the thirteen year olds are figuring out that it's sometimes healthy to hold a certain disdain for pretty much everything the world tries to pass off as real. She loves teaching Pink Floyd guitar chords to the teenagers who are just beginning to realize the living ain't as easy as they once thought it would be. She loves watching life unfold through young people and is frankly a great witness to pretty much anyone's journey.

Given that these are her two great loves (present blogger not included) she believes that a career in wilderness therapy is apropos. After researching programs across the country for over a year, she found one that seemed most appropriate for her in the expansive deserts of the southwest. After jumping through myriad hoops and securing references from a Louisiana soccer dad/coach, an Indo-Tibetan Buddhist scholar and a Jesuit priest, she was offered a job with the organization. She quit her job in Wallingford, CT and we packed our bags, desert bound.

The Hitch:

After a day and a half of training and a moving "blanket ceremony" of trust and commitment, inspired by the "ancient ones" of the southwestern lands, her assistant field director caught a glimpse of the silver tree-of-life band wrapped comfortably around her left ring finger and innocently asked "So what does your ring symbolize for you."

It was, of course, her wedding ring. She proceeded to tell him about it and about me and the tell-tale "problem" indicators appeared upon his otherwise personable and engaging countenance. He took his shot in the dark and told her that she would not be hired because the parents would not consider her a trustworthy representative of the organization's values because she was - dun dun duhn!!! - GAY! He also said that it was his understanding that the organization's "no sexual intimacy outside of marriage" policy did not pertain to same sex couples. He left to confirm this with his supervisor and a few hours later my wife found herself off of the trail, jobless, and sleeping in her car in a nearby hotel parking lot.

When she was interviewed by the organization's president two days later, he confirmed that the big issue was in fact her gay marriage. Since our marriage was not legally recognized by the state, she would have to agree to abstain from "sexual intimacy" with her chosen life-partner if she were to work for the organization. He did not address the other points made by the assistant field director, but he did admit that everyone who had worked with her reported that she was an excellent candidate for the position. He even offered to help her find another job. Thank you Mr. President.

The Problem:

1. At least two of the organization's employees were under the impression that gays were not welcome to work there, so unwelcome in fact that they found it appropriate to invite her to leave the training immediately upon learning of her "sexual orientation."

2. Even if the organization does not discriminate against gays, it does discriminate against "married" gays. Even if a gay couple is in a state recognized "civil union," it is still not a marriage and therefore would leave a job candidate in 47 states shit out of luck in the face of this organization's policy. Does this not reinforce what we learned with the 1954 overturn of Plessy vs. Ferguson, that "separate but equal" is a farce?

Today is the birthday of my mother's hero Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. My mother was a civil rights activist in the 60s and a student at Howard University during the 1968 DC riots. She raised me to understand the movement was about basic civil rights for all people. I can't think of a more basic right than to create and support a family with a person that you love and hold in your heart of hearts. It has been 80 years since the birth of one of the last century's biggest dreamers, and 80 years later America is still not free. Are we still arrogant enough to believe that we can determine the content of our neighbor's character, or validity of their union, based on distorted judgments and perceived differences?

So to all the fearful grown up children that judge, legislate, and discriminate; to all of the whiny playground bullies that draw their little lines in the sand about what gets canonized as American values; to all the beautiful little babies whose fears we "others" coddle and protect with our various discretions, privacies and myriad rainbows of closeting techniques, I have only one thing to say, and I do say it with all the love in my heart: Grow up America.