Category: Viewpoint

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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.

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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.

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Opinion Viewpoint

Take the Gloves Off

Marjorie Taylor Greene (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

Many of you have no doubt watched a video of Michigan state Senator Mallory McMorrow’s forthright response to a far-right colleague’s attempt to paint her as a “groomer” for the LGBTQ community and a supporter of pedophilia.

The larger import of McMorrow’s courageous pushback should not be lost: Democrats need to respond, with controlled anger and potent language, to the deliberate lies and bullying the far right is using these days to win power.

Democrats seem to think facts speak for themselves. Any intelligent person can surely see through the baseless far-right charges. But polls suggest that most conservatives want to believe them, must believe them if their candidate is to succeed.

In this new era of social media-generated “alternative facts,” where the loudest voices are instantly magnified and often win out, we can make no assumptions about the intelligent voter.

Liberals and progressives need to go beyond polite dismissals of the big lies. The liberal media need to stop making it appear that there are two legitimate sides to every debate.

And the president of the United States needs to stop ignoring the far right’s hateful attacks.

It is time to take the gloves off — to call things for what they are. Donald Trump is a traitor; he is responsible for an attempted coup on January 6, 2021. (His financial chicanery also makes him a common white-collar criminal.)

The far-right House team of Marjorie Taylor Greene, Matt Gaetz, Mike Lee, et al. are treasonous co-conspirators who should be barred from office. The Trump inner circle of Michael Flynn, John Eastman, Roger Stone, Mark Meadows, and the rest are cowards and seditionists. Kevin McCarthy is an ambitious liar. Ron DeSantis and Greg Abbott are bullies and bigots. Sean Hannity and the rest of the Fox “news” team are repulsive serial liars.

Get the picture? We no longer treat these people as being sadly wrong or merely narrow-minded. They are, as a group, anti-American — determined to remake our country into an authoritarian state founded on white Christian nationalism. They should be either voted out of office or jailed for criminal behavior.

We cannot continue to be merely “shocked and saddened” by every deceit, every racist act, every homophobic comment the far right comes up with. As Mallory McMorrow said, “Hate wins when people like me stand by and let it happen.”

We, people like her, need to fight back, with a passionate defense of human rights, social equity, and environmental justice — “liberty and justice for all,” remember?

And we should mount a vigorous campaign to pressure the justice department to start bringing federal charges against all these outliers.

Mel Gurtov, syndicated by PeaceVoice, is professor emeritus of political science at Portland State University and blogs at In the Human Interest.

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Opinion Viewpoint

Military, Economic Power (Once Again) Fail to Produce Happiness

(Photo by Christine Roy on Unsplash)

Although the rulers of the world’s major military and economic powers have repeatedly claimed that they are making their nations great again, their policies have not resulted in widespread public happiness among their citizens.

That conclusion emerges from the recent World Happiness Report-2022, published by the UN Sustainable Development Solutions Network. Based on Gallup World Polls conducted from 2019 through 2021, this extensive study provides a revealing look at how roughly 150,000 respondents in 146 countries rated their own happiness. The study’s findings underscore the limited levels of happiness in the world’s major military-economic powers.

There is little doubt about which nations belong in this category. In 2020 (the latest year for which accurate figures are available), the world’s biggest military spenders were the United States (#1), China (#2), India (#3), and Russia (#4). Collectively, they accounted for nearly 59 percent of the world’s military spending and the vast majority of the world’s nuclear weapons.

When nations are ranked by total wealth, a similar pattern appears: United States (#1), China (#2), India (#7), Russia (#13). Despite their ostensibly different economic models, they all boast a hefty share of the world’s billionaires, and once again their ranking is rather similar: United States (#1), China (#2), India (#3), and Russia (#5).

And what has this enormous array of military and economic power produced for their citizens? Well, as it turns out, not a great deal of happiness. The most positive thing that can be said for it is that the United States currently ranks a rather dispiriting 16th on this score. China ranks 72nd. Russia ranks 80th. And India is 136th. Furthermore, over the decade since the annual world happiness surveys began, in 2012, none of these major powers has ever appeared among the 10 happiest nations.

In 2022, the 10 happiest countries were: Finland (#1), Denmark (#2), Iceland (#3), Switzerland (#4), Netherlands (#5), Luxembourg (#6), Sweden (#7), Norway (#8), Israel (#9), and New Zealand (#10).

It is deceptively easy to conclude that the explanation for this high level of happiness lies in the fact that these 10 are all fairly comfortable, economically advanced nations. Even so, there is no significant correlation between a nation’s rank in happiness and its per capita income. Indeed, seven of the nations (Finland, Denmark, Iceland, Netherlands, Sweden, Israel, and New Zealand) did not place at all among the top 12 nations in per capita income during 2021. Finland, ranking #1 for happiness for the fifth year in a row, ranked #25 in per capita income. New Zealand, ranking #10 for happiness, ranked #31 for per capita income. Conversely, Singapore, which ranked #3 in per capita income, ranked #27 for happiness, while United Arab Emirates, which ranked #6 in per capita income, ranked #24 for happiness. Factors other than top incomes were clearly at work in producing the happiest nations.

One such factor appears to be the provision of substantial public services. A striking feature of the world’s nations is that all five Nordic countries rank among the 10 happiest. What these five countries have in common are social democratic policies that counteract income inequality and dramatically reduce poverty by providing free or low-cost healthcare, dental care, housing, education, and childcare, as well as ample pensions and a range of other “welfare state” benefits. Moreover, the other five happiest countries also maintain significant social welfare systems.

The happiest nations also stand out for their relatively egalitarian distribution of wealth. Each of the 10 happiest nations, except Israel, has greater equality of wealth than do the four major military-economic powers. And even that nation’s wealth distribution is considerably more equal than that of the United States and only slightly more unequal than China’s.

Yet another contrast appears when it comes to military spending. Given the enormous Gross Domestic Product (GDP) of the four biggest military-economic powers, an adequate “defense” of their nations should be less of an economic burden on them than it would be on the economies of these 10 much smaller, less wealthy nations. But, in fact, the reverse is true in eight of the happiest nations, which devoted a smaller percentage of their GDP to military spending in 2020 (the latest year for which accurate figures are available) than did all but one of the four major military-economic powers. Sweden, for example, spent only 1.22 percent, Denmark 1.44 percent, and Finland 1.53 percent of their small GDPs on their armed forces, while India spent 2.88 percent, the United States 3.74 percent, and Russia 4.26 percent of their much larger GDPs to fund their military might.

Admittedly, poverty and national insecurity do appear to play important roles in reducing human happiness. The lowest ranking nations in World Happiness Report-2022 are very poor nations, or nations plagued by violence, or both, such as the Palestinian territories (#122), Myanmar (#126), Yemen (#132), and Afghanistan (#146).

Even so, as the global happiness studies indicate, great military and economic power bring nations only so far. Ultimately, a high level of happiness requires social solidarity.

Dr. Lawrence Wittner, syndicated by PeaceVoice, is Professor of History emeritus at SUNY/Albany and the author of Confronting the Bomb (Stanford University Press).

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Opinion Viewpoint

Happy Tax Day

(Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash)

Yes, it’s That Day.

Show of hands — who loves paying their federal taxes? No one?

Okay, let’s hear why not. Warning: I’m going to fact-check you.

Rancher: My taxes go to support welfare mothers and I work for a living. It’s not fair. 

Fact-check: First, thank you for your hard work. In truth, however, just eight percent of our income taxes go to the social safety net for people in poverty and many of the recipients are poor rural working folks. And let’s be fair, farm subsidies, including cattle ranchers, could be considered another form of welfare, that is, pay for no work in many cases, given out in massive amounts above and beyond any other administration by Trump, seemingly to consolidate support from rural voters. 

Senior citizen: My taxes go to support education but my kids are all adults. Why should my taxes support other people’s kids?

Young single person with no kids: My objection exactly!

Married couple without children: We decided not to have kids, so this is our protest too.

Fact-check: Fair enough. I suppose we could eliminate education from the federal budget. That would lower your income taxes by approximately three percent. While we are at it, perhaps we should eliminate the portion of the taxes that go to things many people never use? There are millions of Americans who oppose vaccines, so perhaps no funding for them. Millions of Americans do not fly, so why make them pay for the Federal Aviation Administration’s $18 billion? We could go on …

Veteran: I served, so why should I pay taxes when others didn’t serve?

Fact-check: Good question. We do have to acknowledge that the military budget is huge, by far the largest government agency funded by our income taxes, with about 22 percent of your tax dollars paying for the current military and another 15 percent paying for a combination of the national debt due to military spending and veterans’ benefits. And others serve as well, wouldn’t you agree? The dangers you faced were terrible, as shown by the 18,571 active duty military who died between 2006-2021. Domestically, those numbers are only rivaled by delivery drivers, although in terms of fatalities per 100,000 workers, loggers have a far more dangerous job than military members or police. 

Jeff Bezos: I don’t personally pay taxes, hahahaha.

Fact-check: Yeah, the rest of us underwrite your lavish lifestyle. Across the board, the very wealthy pay just 8.2 percent income taxes, but Jeff, we know you’re trying to humble brag about your amazing scam, so we looked into it and you paid a bit less than one percent tax rate, not zero. Of course the average taxpayer, whose income actually decreased during the last portion of the Trump years, is stuck at around 14 percent, nearly double what most rich people pay.

Right-to-Lifer: I object to my taxes being used to slaughter babies.

Fact-check: Well, again, fair point. In this case, to remedy that objection, we would need to eliminate the Pentagon budget. The civilians, including babies, killed by U.S. military actions in the Global War on Terror amount to at least 387,000 people, and that doesn’t count the civilians killed by other militaries we subsidize and supply, such as Saudi Arabia and Israel. 

Okay, I know everyone’s happy now! Get back to work!
Dr. Tom H. Hastings is Coördinator of Conflict Resolution BA/BS degree programs and certificates at Portland State University, PeaceVoice Senior Editor, and on occasion an expert witness for the defense of civil resisters in court.

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Opinion Viewpoint

For Evora and Ever

I loved my time with the Elise R, but my week with the Evora GT was exceptional. This car has two more cylinders, one more supercharger, much more space, tons more power, better storage, modern radio, amazing suspension tuning, and a far superior shifter. 

The second I sat down in the Evora after getting out of the Elise, I was shocked at how high up and comfy the seats were. It’s low compared to a normal car, but everything is high compared to an Elise. I turned on my heated seats, plugged my phone into Apple Carplay, and drove away in comfort. Daily driving an Elise is possible, but not practical or logical. Daily driving the Evora GT is awesome. Supercar looks, killer exhaust note, cruise control, a back seat area and decent size trunk to keep junk — it’s great. I have a few gripes for a $100K car, though. There is nowhere to put stuff between the driver and passenger, which means you have to put your phone in the passenger seat or behind you in a weird cup holder. The Evora also uses an Alpine head unit. Apple car play works well, but the backup camera quality is comparable to a GameBoy Color. Still, much better than having no backup camera at all. This is to be expected as this Evora has been on the same platform since 2009. Very small complaints over all. 

The best way to describe the Evora is as a small McLaren. Like McLarens, it is mid-engined, comfortable, analog (thanks to its hydraulic steering), and capable of demolishing a twisty road. Unlike a McLaren, it is (somewhat) attainable. At $100K, the Evora GT is a bargain. Nothing else at that price point offers an experience quite like it. You can’t even get a base model Porsche 911 for the price of a loaded Evora GT. 

Now, the numbers: the Evora GT is powered by a 3.5L supercharged Toyota V6 that makes 416 hp and 332lb/ft of torque. 0-60 takes 4 seconds and it weighs just 3100 lbs. Base MSRP is $96,500. But, like the Lightweight Lotus Elise, this car isn’t about the numbers, it’s about driver involvement and a proper British sports car experience — which it absolutely delivers. Don’t dismiss the engine for being a Toyota V6. This 60-degree V6 is an amazing engine. The power is great, but the real magic is the way it sounds. This car absolutely wails. Automotive journalist Jason Camissa named this as the best-sounding car he drove in 2021, and he drives literally everything. Another benefit of being a Toyota engine is the peace of mind. Toyota is known for making bulletproof, long-lasting engines, which is a relief when driving a car made in England. If I was looking for a sports car around $100K, this is definitely what I would choose. What a great car. 

But, the Evora is dead! Lotus has been purchased by Geely Automotive, and with the influx of money comes a whole new line of Loti including the range topping $2M all-electric Evija. This change in ownership also means all Loti we know now will go away. This 2011 Elise was the final year that the Elise was offered in the USA, and 2021 is the last year for the Evora ever. They are being replaced by the Type 131 and Emira respectively. All signs point toward the Emira being improved in every way compared to the Evora, and I imagine the Type 131 will be excellent as well. Lotus is a unique manufacturer making hyper-focused sports cars in a world of egg-shaped crossovers. As their lineup expands, they’ll lose some of that focus, but they will always offer their bread and butter: lightweight drivers’ cars. 

Massive thanks to Scott Grady for allowing me to spend time with his awesome cars. It was a joy and a privilege. Be sure to follow @jlc.on.cars for more automotive content.