Category: Viewpoint

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Opinion Viewpoint

The Power of Opportunity

Sarinya Pinngam | Dreamstime.com

The last week of January is National School Choice Week, a week dedicated to advocating for policies that promote education freedom for families, allowing parents to choose the education best suited for their children. However, the spotlight on support for school choice should extend beyond one week, especially being that it is one of the few nonpartisan issues that is popular throughout the country — and not just with Republican primary voters, but also among 71 percent of all voters, across all demographics and the general electorate. 

Tennessee is one of 13 states with an education savings account program, which allows lower-income families to receive approximately $7,000 per year in private school tuition assistance. Growing up in a zip code where poverty ran rampant, I was able to qualify for an education savings account, an opportunity that changed my life path completely. 

Joi Taylor (Photo: Priscilla Foreman)

My mom and my grandmother were the matriarchs of the family, and my school choice journey began with them. They were the biggest advocates for my siblings and me, always looking for opportunities to help us get ahead and seeking resources to break down the barriers we faced in accessing a quality education. 

Instead of being relegated to the schools that we were zoned for, school choice allowed me to attend New Hope Christian Academy, opening my world up to new possibilities through an exceptional education I would not have otherwise received. New Hope cultivated in me a commitment to hard work and servant leadership, and inspirited the notion that my biggest hopes and dreams could become a reality.  

For middle and high school, I continued my journey at independent schools and attended Evangelical Christian School, where I learned academic discipline and outside-of-the-box thinking. Advanced classes and extracurricular activities prepared me for college, challenging my worldview and thought process constantly. 

After graduating from Evangelical Christian School, I attended University of Memphis where I graduated magna cum laude with a degree in social work. While achieving something like this is attributed to many different factors, the undeniable reality is that the foundation laid by my private schools was instrumental in my success. I currently work for City Leadership, one of the top nonprofit consulting firms in the city of Memphis, and originally made the connection through my school choice journey.

It would have been impossible for me to realize my full potential without the opportunities and support system that school choice afforded me. I aspire to see more students who are just like me, overcoming their circumstances to rewrite their future. I truly believe that every family deserves the chance to choose their child’s education and have access to any school in their community, no matter their background.

In 2023, 20 states said “yes” to expanding school choice. These states either currently implement or are trying to implement policies that allow students to have a variety of choices when it comes to their education, whether that be traditional public schools, private schools, charter schools, or homeschooling. While this evolution of school choice across the country is remarkable, there are still millions of students stuck in school systems based on their family’s income or zip code that don’t fit their unique learning needs.

School choice is essential for the current and future generations of Tennessee, and our lawmakers should support education freedom here and for students across America through the Educational Choice for Children Act (ECCA), a federal tax credit scholarship bill that would help up to 2 million students access a school or education service of their parents’ choice. 

The ECCA would fund scholarships with private donations, not federal money, and donors would receive a federal tax credit. Students could use scholarships for tuition, tutoring to address learning loss, special needs services, education technology, and more. The bill would triple the number of students benefiting from private school choice programs, and it would complement the programs already in effect in 31 states, while creating new opportunities in 19 states that lack the option of school choice. The legislation has more than 100 House co-sponsors and more than two dozen Senate co-sponsors.

My story is proof that there lies power in opportunity, and school choice can give you a chance to blaze a path for generations to come. Education is not “one-size-fits-all” and families deserve the opportunity to choose where their children will learn the best. I urge lawmakers to support school choice by supporting the ECCA so that every child has the opportunity to achieve academic success, despite their background. 

Joi Taylor is Choose901 alumni director at City Leadership in Memphis and a graduate of the Tennessee Educational Savings Account Program. She was also recognized in the Memphis Flyer’s 20<30 class of 2020. 

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Opinion Viewpoint

Friends Don’t Let Friends Kill Innocent Civilians

According to the United Nations, more than 4,000 Palestinians have been killed in four wars since 2008. In this December 2012 image, a child stands amid the rubble of the destroyed Al Dalu family home in Gaza City. Ten members of the Al Dalu family were killed, as well as two neighbors, by an Israeli air strike that November. Four of those killed were children, and four were women. (Photo: Rrodrickbeiler | Dreamstime.com)

Turn on any mainstream news media and you are guaranteed to see grisly details of violence transpiring in Israel and Palestine. Interviews with survivors and witnesses describing horrors; observers asking important questions like “how could this happen?” and “why didn’t we stop it?” Sooner or later the politics, the leaders, and the responses become central to the story.

The New York Times reported: Israel’s defense minister said “no electricity, no food, no water, no fuel” would be allowed into Gaza after an invasion by the militant group Hamas.

All I could think was, “Not again!”

I hate seeing the same failed responses. But breaking the narrative is a daunting task. 

Attacks on civilians are morally reprehensible — always. Hamas, however, is not just repugnant in its horrific choice of tactics but counterproductive. Over and over, we see terror groups using violence against civilians; while it makes the news, it does not achieve desired outcomes. 

Simply put, with rare exception, when Hamas targets civilians it is used as justification for an even more violent response, and one that much of the world supports.

No critique of grievances is necessary to make a full condemnation of the violent terrorism employed by Hamas, and the choice to target civilians makes it much less likely for those grievances to be considered at all. “Idiotic” understates the monumental stupidity in such a bad strategic choice. 

Hamas, likely, just set the Palestinian resistance/struggle for legitimate grievances back several years. As usual. Once again.

But what is this about a siege of Gaza? “No electricity, no food, no water, no fuel” — are you kidding me? Worse, Israel is bombing apartment buildings full of Palestinian families, and hospitals. How many children or suffering patients does Israel kill before the world throws up its collective hands and stops caring much about either side?

If the U.S. is any friend to Israel, then they must help them to avoid such an unforced error. There is no doubt that such a blockade would kill innocent civilians, they always do, and they place the most vulnerable at greatest risk. Grandparents and newborn babies have these survival needs; cutting off access to basic human needs … it is just as counterproductive for Israel as terrorism is for Hamas.

And the world sees the Israeli air strikes on civilians and asks, so how is that not terrorism?

Being a friend does not mean standing idly by while your friend makes bad choices. The U.S. has participated in such bad choices too many times, and we have learned these lessons. Killing innocent civilians, whether directly or indirectly, tends to do several things: First, it undermines legitimacy; second, it is used as a recruitment tool for the opposition; third, it causes committed opposition to dig in and become even more entrenched.

The U.S. ought to tell Israel, “Believe it or not, when we dealt with the Taliban in Afghanistan, we always accomplished more with bridges than bombs.” It’s true, the innocent civilians provided great intelligence on the terror group when they came to see the U.S. for doing good. Never underestimate the achievements you can make when the choice is taking two steps forward instead of two steps backward; in this regard, violence is always regressive. 

Wim Laven, Ph.D., syndicated by PeaceVoice, teaches courses in political science and conflict resolution.

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Opinion Viewpoint

Go Outside, Feel Better, Save the Climate

Photo: Jan Huber | Unsplash Just being in nature has benefits.

We’re experiencing disastrous climatic events because we treat the land — metaphorically speaking — like dirt. 

Nature’s ecosystems regulate climate. In turn, the well-being of all nature, ourselves included, is dependent upon the health of the climate. The current level of global climate change is so extreme that climate scientists have issued what they call the final warning.

Work with the sliver of hope. We can combat global climate change by reestablishing our love for and connection to the only home we’ve ever known, Earth. We can start by simply going outside. Being in nature has health benefits for you, and the closer you are to nature, the more inclined you’ll be to protect it.

Please: Try it now. You’ll likely be surprised by the invigorating benefits, both for you and the planet. Improving one’s health by simply being in nature is called ecotherapy, and there is a growing field of practitioners. The science behind ecotherapy is new, but there is evidence that being outdoors has significant health benefits, both mental and physical. 

Just being around plants and trees has been shown to lower blood pressure and pulse rate, reduce levels of stress hormones, increase levels of immune-boosting white blood cells, and improve sleep. Some therapists believe that in order to get the full benefit of ecotherapy, you need to give something back, such as plant a tree, start a garden, and so on. The beauty of this is that giving back to nature — even a little — will help combat global climate change. 

The best way to experience the health benefits of ecotherapy is to find a nice quiet spot in a natural setting where you can be alone with your thoughts. The only hard part will be muting your smartphone, but you can do it. Pay attention to the sights, sounds, and smells of nature. 

Acknowledge what you’re sensing. If it’s sunny, appreciate the warmth the sun is giving you. Appreciate the support of the rock or stump or ground you’re sitting on. You might try repeating to yourself over and over, “I have arrived, I am home,” and pay attention to the tension draining from your body. You won’t reach nirvana, but you might very well sense a connection to the Earth, and that’s a spiritual feeling. 

You don’t have to go for a wilderness outing; simply spending time in a city park or backyard can achieve health benefits. And if you don’t have an opportunity to find solitude in a natural setting, you can also get some benefits of ecotherapy inside. 

Look around your home. You’ve likely brought nature into your household in one form or another — perhaps a houseplant, pet, scenic painting, natural wood furniture, calendar with nature pictures, fire in the form of candles or fireplace, and so on. If you have brought such natural objects into your house, pause and notice them for a moment. 

It may even inspire you to join a local environmental group, buy a bicycle for some of your transportation needs, start using only reusable bags when you shop, donate to a climate defense organization, testify at local public hearings on behalf of carbon reduction policies, or add insulation to your home, as examples of what we can all do once we see how much we care for nature. 

We know what needs to be done to combat climate change, but too many of us lack the motivation to make lifestyle adjustments for the good of humanity and the planet. 

If you are willing and able to take the above simple and healing steps, you will come to a deeper understanding of your connection to everything in the world around you. Then giving something back to nature will suddenly seem important. What could be better than taking steps to combat climate change? If enough of us contribute a little, the effect will be large, and together we can make the world a better place for everyone. 

We need to do it now, while we still can. 

Paul Hellweg is a freelance writer and poet. His writing can be seen at PaulHellweg.com and VietnamWarPoetry.com.

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Opinion Viewpoint

Missed the Mark

Illustration: C. Barsotti

Ideas about men and manhood have been evolving for more than 50 years, but Sen. Josh Hawley has not gotten the message. Like so many others working to protect white male supremacy (see Carlson, Tucker; McCarthy, Kevin), he’s driving a gas-guzzling Cadillac on a road increasingly filled with EVs.

Just as women are vigorously resisting returning to a pre-Roe v. Wade America, men aren’t going back either. Tone-deaf to shifts in the culture, Hawley published a book about men last month, perhaps as a ploy to revive his presidential ambitions.

Manhood: The Masculine Virtues America Needs is a call for American men to “stand up and embrace their God-given responsibility as husbands, fathers, and citizens,” according to Regnery, Hawley’s far-right publisher. If you want to know what not to embrace in considering American manhood, it’s all in the 256 pages of this book. Claiming that our country’s all-male founders believed that the U.S. “depends” on certain masculine virtues ignores the realities of today.

There is much to appreciate about men; still, we’d be much better off if we talked about positive changes — embracing gender equality and rejecting white male supremacy. Calling men out as unemployed whiners, and trash-talking women while playing video games and watching pornography, misses the mark. Examples of new expressions of masculinity abound, from stay-at-home dads to younger men becoming curious about feminism.

Hawley’s thesis — that men are in crisis — does have a kernel of truth; there are men floundering, but that is not where the majority of younger men are headed. More and more men are abandoning expressions of masculine culture based on oppressing anyone not white or male. Sure, we still have a ways to go, but support among younger men for women’s reproductive rights, for gay and trans rights, for voting rights, is on the rise.

There are organizations around the country and across the globe promoting gender equality, challenging men’s violence, encouraging involved fatherhood, while rejecting men as top dog at home, work, and houses of worship.

Danger does exist; just not what Hawley is concerned about. It’s in young men enamored of gun culture, sucked into social media echo chambers of hate. To see how out of touch Hawley is, there’s nothing in his book about perpetrators of mass shooting massacres — primarily young men.

“Ever since the January 6 committee showed the video of Sen. Hawley running from the insurrectionist mob he’d earlier encouraged with a fist in the air, we’ve all had a good laugh at his expense,” Jonathan Capehart wrote in The Washington Post.

Although caricatured as a “manhood-obsessed hypocrite,” make no mistake: Hawley is dangerous precisely because, as Capehart noted, “He is selling a vision of masculinity to White America that has much more to do with prejudice than manliness.”

His message may still resonate with older white men, but younger men, even those who may enjoy watching Ultimate Fighting, are generally tolerant, accepting of their gay and trans coworkers, and are supportive of colleagues who have had an abortion.

The future is not white male supremacy, in part because patriarchy is dangerous for men.

In a March 31, 1776, letter, Abigail Adams, future first lady to our second president, wrote her husband John, urging the Continental Congress to remember women’s interests as they prepared to fight for independence from Great Britain. “[I]n the new code of laws … I desire you would remember the ladies and be more generous and favorable to them than your ancestors. … Do not put such unlimited power into the hands of the husbands. Remember, all men would be tyrants if they could. If particular care and attention is not paid to the ladies, we are determined to foment a rebellion and will not hold ourselves bound by any laws in which we have no voice or representation.”

There have been “pro-feminist” men since at least the 18th century. While Abigail Adams may not have mentioned men, they were allies-in-waiting then, and are growing in numbers today. What is different now is that we’re stepping forward to say so. Fifty years ago, Josh Hawley may have sold a lot of books. Today, I’m betting they’ll be remaindered by the Fourth of July.

Rob Okun (rob@voicemalemagazine.org), syndicated by PeaceVoice, writes about politics and culture. He is editor-publisher of Voice Male magazine, chronicling the antisexist men’s movement for more than three decades.

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Opinion Viewpoint

I Believe E. Jean Carroll: Here’s Why

The author as a college freshman (Photo: Courtesy Mary Loveless)

This is a repurposed version of a speech I gave at the “Memphis Monologues” program, in which women tell real, personal stories to raise awareness of their experiences.

In light of writer E. Jean Carroll’s recent rape and defamation suit against Donald Trump, I felt my story had some currency. Seeing Trump lawyer Joseph Tacopina going after Ms. Carroll with the same old “attack-the-victim” ploys we might have hoped had died out, I thought it time to dust it off.

I was raped in college. This event isn’t something that defined me, and it’s not something that derailed my life or rewrote my story; it’s just a real thing that happened.

Growing up, I was the goody-goodiest of all goody-goodies, and to say that I was innocent doesn’t begin to cover it. I started college, wide-eyed and chaste, and immediately began dating an upperclassman. He was cute, he drove a cute car, he had cute friends, and his fraternity had great parties. It was fun to be liked, and I really liked him.

By the end of freshman year, we were fighting a lot — specifically over sex. He wanted it. I didn’t. I always made sure we stopped short of my definition (and Bill Clinton’s) of “having sex” — when a penis enters a vagina — and until you did that, you were a virgin. I was determined to remain that virgin until I was married. We went on like that through my sophomore year.

I was away for the summer after my sophomore year, and when I returned home in August, I decided to break up with him — but first, we had to go to Florida with a big group for a wedding.

One night, he dragged me out of a fun house party. He wanted to leave, I didn’t, and I was highly annoyed. Out in the driveway, he wanted to go somewhere so we could make out, but I was having none of it, so I turned to go back into the house. He grabbed my arm, spun me around, and slammed me against a car door. Whatever I said in response, it made him mad enough to hit me in the face.

That was it. One strike and you’re out. I told him we were done, went back inside, and drove home to Tennessee after the wedding with my roommate, telling him to find his own damn way home.

Over the next two weeks, he called, wrote, cried, and sent flowers, but I stuck to my guns. I arrived back at college excited for the new year. Friends had already started setting me up with dates.

I don’t remember what he said that made me drive over to see him at the off-campus house where he now lived, but I must’ve felt sorry for him, or needed to pick up some mementos or pictures. Or something. Anyway, I went.

I could go into a lot of detail here, but it’s not really necessary. And I don’t want to give him too much focus.

In his room, he begged me not to break up, but I told him it was too late. He pinned me down. I thought I heard someone else in the house, so I hollered for help and he hit me — again, to shut me up — and then he raped me. I struggled, got away, and left. In one fell swoop, he had taken from me what I’d refused to give him for two years.

But the bigger story, now, is not the rape itself , but how everyone in my life reacted to it.

First, how I reacted. It didn’t occur to me to report it — after all, I had gone to his house, and we had dated for two years, so who’d ever believe me? Also, then everyone would know — horrors of all horrors — that I. Was. Not. A. Virgin. I reacted, like most women in my generation probably did, with a combination of silence and shame.

I did Olympics-caliber mental gymnastics to convince myself that it never really happened. I took this memory like a piece of chewed-up gum in a tinfoil wrapper and balled it up into the teeniest little morsel and then buried it deep in the back of my mind, rarely —if ever — even thinking about it, and NEVER breathing a word of it to another living soul.

Then, in 2016, the odious Donald Trump slithered onto the national scene. Late that October, before the election, my wonderful husband Bill and I were talking about the Access Hollywood pussy-grabbing tape and the first group of Trump sexual assault accusers who had come forward.

Bill — like most men— couldn’t understand why the women wouldn’t have sought justice all those years ago. “If something that horrible happens to you, you report it!” he declared.

I argued that of course those women would NOT have come forward, for any of a million reasons — fear of not being believed or being blamed, the need to protect a job, power disparity, being ashamed that it happened.

Suddenly, 42 years of tamping it down, keeping it secret, and even pretending it had never happened fell away, and I blurted out, “I believe the women because Scumbag Jones raped me in college, and I’ve never told anybody!”

Bill was shocked. I told the story, and he started asking questions: “Why did you go over to his house?” “Why didn’t you report it or tell anybody?”

Let me tell you what one of my daughters said about this part of the story: “Usually, those questions would sound ignorant and would make me indignant. But because I know Dad, I kind of hear those questions as coming from the same desperate place as when you’re watching a horror movie — ‘Oh, God, why is she going in there?! Doesn’t she know there’s a monster in there?! Stop!’”

After a lot of talk and healing, and newfound understanding on Bill’s part, we got past this bump in the road, and Bill came out of it much more supportive of me, and a much stronger ally for women.

Shortly thereafter, I told my daughters, and while they were marvelously sympathetic and caring about it, they didn’t seem surprised. I’m not sure if rape is more common today or if it’s just less taboo, but they didn’t take it as earth-shaking news.

One daughter said: “My generation processes it with anger, while yours processed it with shame.” One thing’s for sure: They do not blame the woman.

For a couple years, I rocked along with only my family knowing about this. Not that I was hiding it. It just never came up.

Then came the Kavanaugh Supreme Court hearings, and the stunning and compelling testimony of Dr. Christine Blasey Ford. I wondered, if my rapist had been nominated for high office, would I have the courage to come forward and speak out? Hmm.

He actually did become a lawyer. But the higher office thing never happened, because at some point he was convicted of some kind of white-collar fraud and went to prison for awhile.

Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?

Later that week, I was at lunch with a couple of friends, and one asked if we believed Dr. Blasey Ford. “Yes, absolutely!” I exclaimed. “Because I was raped in college and I never told anyone!” After I told my story, another of the friends told us that she also had been raped and had never told anyone. A few months later, I told some college friends, and likewise, everyone had their stories — whether it was them, or a daughter, or another friend — everyone had them.

And the funny thing about telling a woman friend that you were raped in college and never said anything about it for 42 years — she doesn’t ask you a bunch of questions. She just reaches across the table, grabs your hand, and says, “I’m so, so sorry.”

Flash forward to the E. Jean Carroll trial, which ended last week with the jury finding Trump liable for sexually abusing and defaming her. The things she’s been attacked for by Tacopina are infuriating. (Side note: Tacopina looks — and acts — more like a mob lawyer than most movie mob lawyers.)

How could a rape take place in a little dressing room? I’ve been in those dressing rooms at Bergdorf Goodman — indeed, Bill’s been in there with me when I looked for a formal dress — and they are huge.

Why didn’t she scream? Any of a number of reasons, and Carroll answered that on the stand — numerous times.

Why didn’t she report it? In a way, she did report it, since she told two women friends, when I never told a single soul for 42 years.

Why didn’t she report it to the police? See my reasons above, especially the one about power disparity. One of her friends actually told her not to report it because of Trump’s power and cadre of lawyers who would “bury” her.

It seems to me that E. Jean Carroll’s experience with Trump mirrors that of so many other women, and I’m in awe of her bravery for following through.

You go, Ms. Carroll. I believe you.

Mary Loveless is a sexual-assault-surviving, gun-owning, Planned-Parenthood-patient-escorting Southern debutante, and a former writer/editor for Memphis magazine.

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Opinion Viewpoint

Providing Safe Spaces

Photo: Cecilie Johnsen | Unsplash

“That’s so gay” is commonly and blatantly used among adolescents in schools. I can’t count how many times I’ve walked through a school hallway and heard this. What’s saddening is that it turns the word “gay” into one that describes someone society should be ashamed of — someone who isn’t “normal.” When name-calling is happening to our queer-identifying youth, who’s standing up for them? The fact that our children are still using the word “gay” as a derogatory term shows that our schools, teachers, parents, and community members aren’t doing enough to provide safe spaces that support our LGBTQ students.

Anu Iyer (she/they), youth volunteer coordinator at OUTMemphis, a nonprofit that serves the LGBTQ community through empowering, connecting, educating, and advocating, speaks on the issue: “There’s a big sense of isolation among LGBTQ+ youth.” Iyer has supervised OUTMemphis’ PRYSM youth groups for years. These are social groups coordinated for queer-identifying youth and allies between the ages of 13 to 17 and 18 to 24. As an intern, and later a staff member at OUTMemphis, Iyer has witnessed first-hand the effects that this sense of isolation can have on both LGBTQ students and their parents.

Iyer explains that due to the lack of safe and affirming spaces, parents of queer-identifying youth have been moving their children out of public schooling and into alternatives such as private schools or online schools. “There are some parents who are concerned about their kids and want to support them” she says. “They want to know how to take action against unconstitutional things that are happening. When kids don’t have a strong support system, it’s a slippery slope to anxiety, depression, and poor coping skills. Not feeling like there’s a sense of hope is probably the most dangerous feeling.”

This “sense of hope” not only depends on students, their attitudes, and responses to queer-identifying students, but it also depends on our schools’ teachers and staff members. A middle-school student in Memphis who identifies as nonbinary expresses that after months of being bullied for their gender expression, along with being name-called for being queer, their teacher did not stand up for them. “I feel frustrated and just nervous,” they explain. “I always feel like I’m on edge.”

Not only is it important to educate youth on how to give mutual respect to queer-identifying students, but it’s also important for teachers and staff to do the same. Part of the problem is that some adults may hold conflicting beliefs that cause them to ignore the topic or disregard what’s really happening. Some adults may find pronouns awkward or controversial, or may not understand that they are, indeed, a part of a person’s identity. Some may witness LGBTQ-related name-calling and bullying but not know how to handle it. Some may not understand why, for example, a nonbinary or trans student may feel unsafe in a boys’ locker room yet unaccepted in a girls’ locker room. The truth is that, quite often, our LGBTQ youth don’t feel safe.

How much do schools feel it’s their responsibility to hold space for topics that involve LGBTQ youth? The answer is that schools are responsible. Some students are queer-identifying. They are “gay,” LGBTQ, and everything else outside of the constructs society has created for us. Iyer says, “It’s important for people to pipe up when they see something happening to a kid. Teachers should be safe zone trained so they can be good mentors, good people for students to talk to if they’re going through something, and spaces where students can feel like their privacy and confidentiality will be respected.”

Safe zone training is recommended for anyone who wants to learn how to create safe spaces for the LGBTQ community and is something anyone can participate in. According to the Safe Zone Project, a free online resource for educators, “safe zone trainings are opportunities to learn about LGBTQ+ identities, gender, and sexuality, and examine prejudice, assumptions, and privilege.” There is no correct curriculum or course for safe zone training, but luckily, OUTMemphis provides such training as LGBTQ+ 101, Transgender 101, Creating a Trans-Inclusive Workplace, and Working with LGBTQ+ Youth and Creating a Safe School Environment.

At the school level, the goal is to work toward progression instead of regression. It starts with teachers and staff taking opportunities to stand up for LGBTQ youth and educate other students. Schools should provide resources for queer-identifying students — resources that they can relate to and find comfort in. As Iyer says, “If I had to say one more thing it would be a call-to-action for teachers, counselors, people who are working at the student level in schools to reach out to us and be the people in school who spread the resources.

“Come to us. Pick up some flyers, business cards, brochures. … We can give you all the literature. You don’t have to spend a dime, just help us spread the word.”

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Opinion Viewpoint

Soul Fragments

Photo: Toscawhi | Dreamstime.com

Confession: I have a few books out there that no one knows about because I haven’t written them … well, finished them. I’ve talked in previous columns about “wrestling with infinity” — the match I always lose — by which I mean, picking a subject too large to reduce to words and eventually getting hopelessly lost in it, e.g.: shifting human consciousness, transcending what we think we know, truly creating peace (whatever that is).

So welcome to my latest attempt to circumvent infinity. The book I’m aiming at is a collection of the poetry I’ve written over the past two decades, but not exactly. It’s not really a “collection” of anything — art objects on display in glass cases, meant to be admired — and the poetry (and other stuff) I would include I think of essentially as “soul fragments”: bleeding pieces of personal truth. And the point of the book is to enter the present moment with the reader, to revere life together, to tremble at its wonder, to look into the eyes the unknown … with the help of something I call the Blue Pearl.

A second confession: I admit it, I’m a jewel thief. I came upon the concept “Blue Pearl” many years ago, in a book called Meditate by Swami Muktananda. He describes the Blue Pearl as something found at a deep stage of meditation: “a tiny blue light, the light of the Self. … The Blue Pearl is the size of a sesame seed, but in reality it is so vast it contains the entire universe. … [It] lights up our faces and our hearts; it is because of this light that we give love to others.”

Fascinated as I was by this, I considered myself a total mediocrity when it came to meditation, and knew I would never reach a level where I might somehow grasp the Blue Pearl. But a decade later, something happened. My wife was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Untreatable.

By the time it was discovered, it had metastasized throughout her gastrointestinal system. She was given four months to live — case closed, nothing can be done. The doctor we talked to in the wake of her surgery was stunningly emphatic, so much so that I wrote in my journal afterwards: “At this point my image of Western medicine is of a mason jar with the lid closed tight, all the facts in there stale and hopeless. They want Barbara inside that jar and inside that jar she’s going to die.”

We had no choice but to reach beyond this medical certainty in every way we could — to reach for alleged miracles, and to savor every day, every moment. And, oh my God, I needed a real role to play. I asked Barbara if I could be her “spiritual advisor,” whatever that might mean. She concurred. We joined the Cancer Wellness Center, read the same books, looked at treatments beyond the world of conventional medicine (some doctors tread there) … and I thought about the Blue Pearl.

Indeed, I just took it — smashed the window, reached in, and seized it, brought it into my life and Barbara’s life. I could never have seized the Blue Pearl if it hadn’t been for the shock of the medical diagnosis, which shattered not some window in a museum of world religions, but an inner window of self-doubt and false awe that could just as easily be called intimidation. I don’t quite know what I seized, maybe no more than three words: “the Blue Pearl.”

But as I felt Barbara’s mortality looming, kicking around in the next room — as I felt my own mortality for the first time — a sense of urgency lit up. This is all we’re going to get. And it was the life around me that began to glow, infused by some precious secret about how much life is worth that the dying pass back and forth to one another.

Barbara survived beyond the diagnosis. She lived nine months — months that were difficult and pain-ridden, but also amazing beyond words. After her passing I started writing poetry. The narrative of my life was interrupted, shattered. I could only write poetry, for the first year or so that I was a widower. I wrote about her life. I wrote about cancer. I wrote about our 12-year-old daughter. I wrote about whatever I encountered — the beauty of wet snow, the streetwise salesman at the train station who pleaded: “Pray for me.” I wrote about a ceiling leak. I wrote about my dad. So these are the soul fragments I want to clump into a book: sparkling blue pearls, perhaps, each of which tries in its own way to turn a moment sacred, to turn life’s every moment sacred. Here, for instance, are the final lines of a poem called “The Blue Pearl”:

In the lifeless parking lot
my wild heart,
so big and wanting
happiness, a cure for
cancer or just five years
five years to perfectly
love my wife, stops,
lets go of itself,
bears for an instant
the silver-streaked now
of truth,
now now only now
and always now
she is alive
and I am alive
and that’s my miracle
and it’s enough.

Robert Koehler (koehlercw@gmail.com), syndicated by PeaceVoice, is a Chicago award-winning journalist and editor. He is the author of Courage Grows Strong at the Wound.

Categories
Opinion Viewpoint

Viewpoint: A Referendum on Arrogance

Bryce Ashby (Photo: courtesy Bryce Ashby)

Over the last few weeks, we’ve heard a few grumblings of support for the Memphis City Council’s referendum seeking to extend its own term limits from two to three terms. Unfortunately for the council, those grumblings appear to be coming only from its own members and their cronies. Nevertheless, they continue unabated in their effort to rally support for this mistaken attempt to supplant the will of residents.

Memphis Mayor Jim Strickland has abandoned his previous promise not to seek a third term in office if term limits were extended. Now, showing a little mayoral leg to entice his voting bloc, Mayor Strickland said if the referendum passes, he will be more than happy to flip-flop his position to keep himself in office.

Meanwhile, Councilman Dr. Jeff Warren — the referendum’s most vocal supporter — seeks to garner votes in his quixotic quest to remain in power.

I’ve said this before: I like Jeff Warren. I appreciate his service. I appreciate his efforts to protect Overton Park. Although I’ve never voted for Mayor Strickland, he offered strong leadership through the pandemic and has offered a welcome, tempering voice as the city council unwisely sought to hop into bed with the Carlisle group and have the city carry far too much financial risk in the One Beale project.

I have strong disagreements with these men on a number of other issues, but even if I didn’t, their cynical efforts in backing the term limit referendum demonstrate a disappointing amount of hubris and/or frightening misunderstanding of the goals of public service.

Strickland and Warren have primarily argued in favor of the referendum because there is still work to be done. Well, of course, there is, but that’s not a good reason to extend term limits. There will always be work to do, challenges to overcome, and improvements to make. Extending term limits to three terms or eliminating them altogether will not change that fact.

Public service and governing should be about making as great a contribution as you can while you have the opportunity. Democracy is about making long-term, incremental progress, and a good public servant should work to make those contributions and that progress, but with an eye on developing young leaders to follow behind him or her and continue that work. That’s Strickland and Warren’s first mistake — contending that the work can ever be finished. Their second mistake and the much more troubling one is believing that only they are capable of doing that work.

Look around Memphis. We have so many talented, energetic, and creative people working to make the city better. Whether it is in business, nonprofits, or advocacy, Memphis’ greatest resource is our sheer abundance of smart and caring individuals working to build a more just and equitable city. Working to build a stronger education system. Fighting to ensure that as we develop, we do so in an environmentally sustainable way.

Instead of wasting their energy and spending political capital on keeping themselves in power, Mayor Strickland and Councilman Warren would be better off identifying young leaders who are already contributing to our city and encouraging them to bring their energy to public service.

Let’s bring this debate to a close on August 4th. What is on the ballot is not a referendum on term limits but one on the arrogance of a few. For the third time in 14 years, vote against this cynical referendum. Once that’s done, we can focus on what really matters, continuing the work of improving the lives of all Memphians.

Bryce W. Ashby is an attorney with Donati Law, PLLC.

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Opinion Viewpoint

Renting in Memphis by the Numbers

A porch in Memphis (Photo by Jenni Kowal on Unsplash)

I began my search for a rental home roughly three months ago, sometime in March 2022. My (soon to be, and from here on out referred to as ex) husband and I were in the beginning stages of our blessedly amicable divorce. The first prospective landlord I spoke to on the phone was obviously eager to get his property, a unit in a Midtown quadruplex, rented as soon as possible, simply to stop the incessant flow of inquiries. “Past evictions, credit, I don’t care about any of that,” he told me. “If you pay, you stay, that’s my philosophy.” He said he would be at the property in about 30 minutes if I could make it there by then, though he mentioned someone else would be viewing it before I did. I wondered if finding a place could actually be that easy. Then I got the call that it was rented. I had been beaten to it. It would become a familiar experience.

So began the long, arduous process of constant rejection. That could be the title of an epic poem summing up finding a rental in Memphis, Tennessee, in 2022. “A Long, Arduous Process of Constant Rejection.” If that seems overly dramatic, here are some numbers for you to consider. In the three-ish months that I searched, I looked at, inquired about, or saw roughly 115 rental properties. I say “roughly” because this doesn’t count the messages I deleted, the countless internet rabbit holes I went down, or all the phone calls I made. I arrived at the number 115 by looking through my inbox, message chains, notebooks, and Slack threads. My coworkers, my family, my ex-husband’s coworkers, my friend’s online mom-messaging board, my friends of friends of friends — a veritable army of kind, helpful people have been looking on my behalf as well. 

Perhaps the most important number of all to consider throughout this process has been the number three, as in “you must make three times the monthly rent to qualify for this property.” According to the U.S. Census Bureau, the median household income for Memphis in 2020 was $41,864. The per capita income was $26,704. So, hypothetically, a single person making roughly $27,000 per year looking for a place to rent in this city would need to find, in order to meet the three times monthly rent qualification, a house or apartment for $750 a month. Keep in mind, we’re talking gross income here, so taxes haven’t been taken out yet. If a property manager wants to base these qualifications on net income, the number goes down to about $640 per month. Right now, at 3:01 p.m. on June 9, 2022, there are 33 results on zillow.com for rentals no higher than $650 per month. This is barring any other filters, like a place being pet-friendly or having more than one bedroom. 

But wait! Don’t forget: Some rental companies require four times the monthly rent. I won’t go through all those numbers, but suffice to say, a person living alone on an average Memphis income won’t be able to make that work. I have had the cynical thought — and it has been suggested many times to me by others — that the three-times rent qualification is nothing more than a thinly veiled discrimination tactic. And yet, even when I decided on multiple occasions to forge ahead and ignore the three times thing, I would be rejected. “Insufficient funds,” reads one email that I received after viewing and applying for a Midtown duplex. I made it halfway through one online application before realizing that it required past pay stubs. I’ve worked part time and been a stay-at-home-mom for the past four years. My circumstances are changing, but an online application doesn’t care about that. I understand that a landlord needs to protect their investment, but I can also wish the process of finding housing were an easier one to navigate.

Here’s yet another number to consider: five. As in, your credit score is going to drop about five points every time it’s checked. How about the number 40? As in, you’re going to have to pay a $40 application fee in order for us to check your credit — which will then drop — and then reject your application anyway for “insufficient funds.” Do I seem bitter? Frustrated? Finding a place to live shouldn’t feel like running a gauntlet. And this is coming from a white woman with good credit history and a verifiable source of income. I’m so privileged it’s disgusting. Where does this kind of market leave anyone working minimum wage? Or someone who doesn’t have established credit? A retiree? A single parent paying for childcare? 

The last number to become relevant during this search was one. As in, I was the first person to view a property. As in, only one landlord actually asked for my opinion on what I could afford instead of making the decision for me. I feel extremely lucky to be able to end this piece by saying that I now have a place to live. How many others are being left hung out to dry? 

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Opinion Viewpoint

What This White Comic Found at Their Kids’ School isn’t Funny. It’s Racist.

Katrina Coleman sits at their home with their children. (Photo by Andrea Morales for MLK50)

Every school day, I pick up my two kids. I walk to the door of my youngest’s elementary school and we walk back to the car. We drive to pick up the oldest and head home, talking about their respective days.

Recently, though, I was late picking up the oldest because someone decided to add stickers to the dumpsters where my youngest has to pass to get to my car. In big black and white letters, one read: IT’S OK TO BE WHITE and another said: BLACK LIVES MURDER WHITE CHILDREN. 

I couldn’t help but say, “OH WHAT THE F—” out loud and then I told my youngest kid to wait.  But he jumped right in, and together, we scraped off four of the former and two of the latter. I cussed and sweated as we worked, and I told my son we had to get them off before anyone else saw what these *expletive deleted* put near his school. 

We took an example of each into the office to tell the nice lady who calls us adults Mom and Dad but knows all the kids’ names that a white supremacist group had been through. I tried to keep it businesslike, suggesting that the maintenance staff keep an eye out in case there were more. 

But the truth is that I also spoke in that grown-up tone because a second-grader was in the office and I didn’t want him to be curious and ask what I’d given the nice lady.  

In 2022, nearly 70 years after Brown v. Board of education, I had to hand a Black woman, who cares deeply for children, hateful propaganda. We both tried to pretend it was regular vandalism. Neither of us wanted the child to know he was being threatened. 

She murmured, “Oh my God, why would anyone do this?”

Photo illustration of the two stickers Coleman found on school grounds. MLK50 distorted the images of the stickers to avoid amplifying the racist messages they intend to spread.

Why indeed? 

I live in Rozelle-Annesdale, where I frequently see Black Lives Matter yard signs on our street. Our neighborhood is next to Cooper-Young, where the city’s LGBT community center sits and where every other yard has a BLM sign and several houses have large artistic pieces supporting BLM.

Reports of these stickers keep popping up on social media in the Cooper-Young district. Presumably, the area is being targeted for being whatever “woke” means to racists. Funny how closely linked are the dual rages at a rainbow crosswalk and Black Lives Matter. It’s almost like the anger isn’t logical. 

I see you people. I grew up in West Memphis and Marion, across the river in Arkansas, back when it was still very segregated. I recognize the code words. The sly jokes meant to obscure anti-Black feelings. The small disrespects done to Black people. You’re angry that you’re not kings and need to blame someone. So, of course, you do the most radical thing you can think of — you put stickers on a dumpster for 7-year-olds to read. That will show them. 

This isn’t the first time. In January, at my middle schooler’s campus, about a dozen “IT’S OK TO BE WHITE” stickers showed up on the fence posts; then earlier this month, another few appeared on the backs of signs. My youngest thought I was insane when I parked and jumped out of the car to claw them off. When I took an intact sticker to the faculty, I leaned in to assert, “This is absolutely a white supremacist slogan. They have been all around the area.” 

I wanted to be sure the staff didn’t presume that maybe it was some musical band sticker or a TikTok challenge by kids trying to be edgy. I couldn’t let this slip into that space where people convince themselves that what they’re seeing may not be what they think it is. I wanted to pull the alarm as hard as I could. I didn’t want to scare the faculty, but I wanted them to take it seriously. No child deserves to start their school day in racial violence. 

Memphis-Shelby County Schools serve a 74% Black student body in a 64% Black city and a 54% Black county. If you have a kid in MSCS, you know that the educators and staff have absolutely stepped up at every opportunity to provide a safe place for the kids. They’ve twisted themselves in knots to focus on getting young people what they need, whether it’s virtual science demonstrations via Microsoft Teams or shoes that don’t pinch. During learning from home because of the pandemic, meals were provided, devices were distributed. There was even a number to call for parents to be tutored so we could support our kids with homework help. My seventh- and fifth-grader have been cared for in ways I never knew a public school could provide. In times when it felt like the entire country went insane, I turned to school superintendent Dr. Joris Ray in his press conferences. MSCS is an incredible boon to the children lucky enough to attend. 

Children should be protected. The mom in me cannot ever understand how anyone could hurt a child. We don’t value a baby because they’re “diverse”, we value them because they are a BABY. (My Southerness means all people under voting age are babies, but babies can include anyone younger than me, anyone who needs protection.)  Black kids don’t need to earn our protection by being relatable. They’re just babies.

One of Coleman’s children uses a plastic spatula to remove the stickers that have been appearing around Memphis with white supremacist messages. (Photo by Katrina Coleman)

All kids are sweet and weird and a pain in the butt and eat all the damn cookies when you aren’t looking. There’s nothing they have to do to deserve our care. There’s nothing they can do to lose it. 

Standing near the stink of an elementary school dumpster (rotten honeybuns and hot milk are a MIX, let me tell you), scraping off white supremacist propaganda, all I could think was that a person like this – someone who saw the need to put a child in their place, to establish dominance over a kid who has enough on their plate just learning to tie their shoes and remember that I comes before E but not all the time – should not be given any consideration. What kind of foul coward slips in the dark of night to proclaim something akin to the 14 words? What manner of bully has to threaten a small, powerless human being with anonymous words? 

It made me laugh when I ranted and raved back at home to my husband, as I was cleaning adhesive from my fingernails, that this was basically, “You will not replace us” in some really weak inkjet formatting. I was tearful and angry. 

What made me laugh is that they will replace us. The kids, that is. This world will be theirs. My fellow mayo moms and ranch dressing dads and provolone parents have a choice. Every single time we uncomfortably chuckle at a racist joke or walk past a sticker insisting that asking for rights is akin to murder, we are complicit. I probably can’t tell the people that cranked these stickers out on address labels with their Canon home inkjets anything. They’re too far gone to be reasoned with.

I can tell you that taking a moment to scrape off a sticker full of hate will tell your kid all they need to know. We may not be able to do big things. We can’t change a racist system all at once. But when we come across something vile and harmful, we do have a choice. 

We can scoff and say, “Oh that’s terrible,” or we can teach our kids to take ‘em down. 

Katrina Coleman is a parent of two and a comedian. They produced the Memphis Comedy Festival as well as the You Look Like show. 

This story is brought to you by MLK50: Justice Through Journalism, a nonprofit newsroom focused on poverty, power and policy in Memphis. Support independent journalism by making a tax-deductible donation today. MLK50 is also supported by these generous donors.