Category: racism

  • Zan, Zendegi, Azadi (Women, Life, Freedom)

    Zan, Zendegi, Azadi (Women, Life, Freedom)


    A 22 year old woman named Mahsa Amini died on September 16th. in a hospital in Tehran, Iran while in the custody of the Guidance Patrol a/k/a the morality police who arrested her three days before for a violation involving “bad hijab,” the headscarf required by law for Iranian women. Amini was on holiday visiting relatives with her brother when she was arrested and, according to eyewitnesses, severely beaten. Police took her to a hospital where she was reported to be in a coma before her death.

    The official statement from the police was that she died of a heart attack as a result of an underlying condition (remember George Floyd?), but her family said she had been in good health prior to the incident. They also said her head and body were covered in bruises, according to an article in The Guardian by Kamin Mohamaddi on October 8th.

    Regardless, the death of Mahsa Amini has ignited a firestorm of protests by primarily women and children against not only the hijab law but also the ongoing repression of women’s rights under a hardline clerical regime. The slogan Zan, Zendegi, Azadi which translates to “Women, Life, and Freedom” has become the rallying cry for women’s rights that has now bubbled over to include other economic and social justice issues plaguing Iran. The Indian EXPRESS Journalism of Courage posted this AP photo with an explanation of the slogan on October 15th. The woman’s image on the banner is Mahsa Amini.

    The connection between women (Zan), life (Zendegi), and freedom (Azadi) is not coincidental. Women are the creators of life and life itself cannot be free unless women are. (AP)

    I hesitate to write about people, places, or events that have the potential to (1) display my ignorance of the world outside my life with Pretty or (2) unintentionally do more harm than good to the universe or (3) some combination. But the story of an Iranian Kurdish woman named Mahsa Imini is one I can’t ignore because it tears at all my senses; I feel for her family and for the thousands of women, men, girls and boys who today protest her death, who ask for a better country – who are dying in the streets by the beatings and bullets aimed to stop the uprising.

    The BBC News says Iranian Human Rights Activists estimated this week that 222 people including at least 23 children have been killed by Iranian security forces in the uprisings. From the youngest identified as a 12 year old schoolboy to the oldest known death, a 62 year old woman, tracking the identities of the victims is made more difficult due to the closing of internet access by the Iranian government.

    With the Dobbs decision by the Supremes this summer which takes away a woman’s right in the USA to control her own body’s health, I see parallels in the struggles for the rights of women in Iran. Author Kamin Mohamaddi’s article in The Guardian on October 8th. makes the argument that what is happening today in Iran is really the frontlines for feminism in the 21st century:

    “There is a power and energy to these protests. The sight of young girls with flowing locks taking down pictures of the two elderly ayatollahs Khomeini and Khamenei, the current supreme leader, that brings tears to my eyes and makes even my cynical heart burn with hope. It is as if the Furies have been unleashed in Iran and these extraordinarily brave young women, who are prepared to walk into bullets for the sake of the right to choose how to live, have lost all the fear that has kept previous generations repressed.

    I say cynical heart because, as a member of Iran’s huge diaspora, as a proud British-Iranian, I have spent a large part of my adult and working life trying to introduce my countries to each other, and it has seemed to no avail…

    It seems that the death of Mahsa Jhina Amini has not captured the world’s imagination in the same way as the death of George Floyd did, and the subsequent global protests in solidarity with the Iranian uprising have had few column inches, in spite of mobilising some 500,000 people around the world in one day alone (1 October).

    But now, as I watch the unity in Iran and the cry of this generation which carries within it the stifled cries of all the generations gone before, for the first time in many years I am allowing myself to dream that one day I too can enter Iran without fear gripping my heart and accompanying every step I take there…

    I am quietly resurrecting the long-buried wish to one day walk down Vali Asr Boulevard in Tehran (the longest street in the Middle East) with my hair loose under the Iranian sun and to lean in to kiss my man without fear of being arrested or shouted at or slapped on the street, or taken to be beaten to death in the back of a morality police van. This is a fragile hope that I keep tucked in my back pocket.

    Meanwhile, I hope that the world wakes up to understand that what is happening in Iran is the frontline of feminism right now: the simple expression of desire for equality, for dignity, for life without fear. And as such, it touches us all. Say it with me: Woman Life Freedom.”

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    Women Life Freedom. Say it with me, and stay tuned.

  • yesterday and today juxtaposed

    yesterday and today juxtaposed


    One of my favorite quotes as a septuagenarian is “we must have old memories and young hopes.” Catchy, right? Sigh.

    I have a revision. Check it out: we must have new memories and reclaim old hopes.

    Yesterday’s new memories with Pretty and our granddaughters

    at a favorite playground

    Today’s old hopes reclaimed on signs

    in our front yard

    I should have saved my signs from 50 years ago. All women – including our granddaughters – must have the right to control their own bodies. Period. End of discussion.

    Make your plan to VOTE on November 08th.

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    Stay safe, stay sane and please stay tuned.

  • Serena Wins!

    Serena Wins!


    Jumping for joy following her win, Serena Williams flashes the multi-million dollar smile toward the stands overflowing with fans who are thrilled to have tickets to witness the historic match. US Open 2022 at Ashe Stadium in New York City?

    Ding, ding, ding. No, Serena tennis trivia fans. I watched the championship match between Williams and Li Na in the 2014 Sony Open a/k/a Miami Masters at the Tennis Center at Crandon Park in Key Biscayne, Florida this morning in my I can’t get enough of her greatness obsession by binging the Salute to Serena this week on The Tennis Channel (the unlucky loser in the battle with ESPN for live coverage of the US Open in 2022). If you can tear yourself away from the ESPN app, catch a few glimpses of Serena in her younger, more powerful years. She was, simply, amazing.

    The 2014 win was historic because it was her seventh title at the event – the number of wins she shared at that time with Chris Evert, Martina Navratilova and Steffi Graf. She won in straight sets by defeating the Chinese player Li Na – closing the second set with an awesome ace. Classic Serena shot that has been her trademark over the past 27 years. Interestingly, Li Na retired following this loss. Also interesting, Novak Djokovic won the men’s singles title in the same tournament that year.

    Last night as Serena began what she refers to as her “evolution” away from tennis, Pretty and I sat watching from our den comfy chairs while she sweated in the summer heat of New York on Ashe Stadium in a first round singles match of the 2022 US Open, the final major of the year. I was as nervous for her as a whistleblower testifying for the January 6th congressional committee against an ex-president. I could scarcely breathe until she won.

    The victory jump may not have been quite as high as the one in the 2014 Miami tournament, the tennis attire may have been more sparkly, but the powerful ferocity that is Serena, the passionate love of the game of tennis, and the flashes of brilliance in that game last night showed why she continues to play in this fourth decade of her life. Would I dearly love for Serena Williams to win her 24th. Major title before she leaves the game? Absolutely. 100%.

    But if she doesn’t, I am grateful to have watched this force of nature not only overcome obstacles to participate in the world of professional tennis but also help to change that world and the game forever. Rock on, Serena. Pretty and I are in your corner.

    2016 Olympics

  • Dimples, Butch, Buttercup, Sissy… Sissy?

    Dimples, Butch, Buttercup, Sissy… Sissy?


    Whenever someone asks me what I’m writing, I feel a fleeting twinge of guilty laziness for saying I continue to blog – no new book of essays, no great American novel, no legacy book for my granddaughters. This is me self publishing using the same platform I’ve had for thirteen years. Never reaching 2,000 followers but loving my local and international friends who faithfully hang with me. Averaging 150 hits per post in 2022, sometimes more in other years, sometimes fewer. Somewhere along the way I found a voice, but the Boomer passion for individual achievement in the realm of literature that produced six books is mixed now with the seasoned settling of comforting routines that continue to produce my cyberspace conversations. If I ever changed my mind about publishing a new collection of my flash nonfiction, I promise the following post from the archives would be included.

    Pretty, the great Treasure Hunter, occasionally brings home items that fascinate. One such find  was two versions of a board game I played as a child growing up in rural Grimes County, Texas in the mid twentieth century. Before the television set took over as our main form of entertainment, my family played all kinds of games from dominoes to gin rummy to board games Santa Claus left for me under the tree at Christmas. One of our family favorite board games was Go to the Head of the Class which was supposedly “educational” as well as fun. With school teacher parents, I played tons of “educational” games.

    fifth series copyrighted in 1949 by Milton Bradley, publisher

    The game was originally played with tokens that were cardboard images of children attached to wooden bases. Each game had 8 tokens, and their pictures were on the book that contained the questions.

    (top row, l. to r.) Sissy, Dimples, Liz and Butch

    (bottom row, l. to r.) Sonny, Buttercup, Susie and Red

    Sissy

    I can’t find the edition when publisher Milton Bradley eliminated the unsmiling player named Sissy, but I can assure you it would have been the last token picked in my family. Buttercup would have run a close second to the last.

    Take a good look at Sissy, the little boy whose two obvious distinguishing features were that he wore glasses and parted his hair down the middle like the little girl tokens.

    I remembered Jim Blanton’s essay in Southern Perspectives on the Queer Movement: Committed to Home where he talked about growing up in Gaffney, South Carolina and being called “sissy” as a child and teenager by bullies in school. Words, labels that cause pain.

    I’m sure my parents were oblivious to the subtle cultural messages being sent to me in our educational games, but for me this game was one more nail in the coffin of internalized homophobia and intentional segregation in my childhood. Never any people of color as the tokens. No one wanted to be known as a “sissy,” and how could I explain to anyone why I always picked “Butch” first?

    This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is img_20220827_150432507_hdr.jpg

    not sure where this picture of me was taken or why – 

    did I already feel different?

    Be aware of bias and labels that hurt. Be kind to each other. Be safe this weekend.

    Stay tuned.

  • from antiques to basketball via the Seminole Trail

    from antiques to basketball via the Seminole Trail


    US highway 29 a/k/a Seminole Trail in parts of Virginia – antiques galore for Pretty to explore

    Pretty and me leaving Jefferson’s Monticello

    (photo by Susan Moore-Cooke)

    Pretty in DC at Old Ebbitt Grill established in 1856

    While Pretty collects antique treasures, I collect words; I found my treasure on a WNBA Washington Mystics t-shirt when we went to watch our home girl A’ja Wilson and her Las Vegas Aces play the Mystics in DC. Our home girl scored 22 points and had 12 rebounds in a game the Aces eventually lost to the Mystics, but Pretty and I weren’t too disappointed. We were thrilled to feel the atmosphere of the big city small arena with its diverse enthusiastic fan following. I told Pretty I was transported that night in my thoughts to the first tiny Texas gymnasium in Grimes County where I watched high school girls play basketball seventy years ago – now I watched a professional women’s team “centered in the very soul of our nation.”

    From Jefferson’s home at Monticello to the Lincoln Memorial…from historic Old Ebbitt Grill to a sports arena in the Congress Heights neighborhood of DC, our four day trip last week along the Seminole Trail reminded me my country was built upon the work of those that dared to dream different.

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    Dare to dream different, and please stay tuned.