The other night a few of my favorite thirty-somethings came over for an evening of enchiladas, mixed drinks, earnest conversation and several rousing rounds of an exuberant, not suitable for work (NSFW) card game called Exploding Kittens. The night before they had tried unsuccessfully to engage me in a virtual game of Exploding Kittens, so, after traveling a considerable distance, they showed up at my doorstep. I had no chance of dodging their plans to engage me in a game I had introduced them to a few years previously.
None of this lead in has anything to do with what I was going to write about, except that it was one of these ladies who asked me if I thought the time we were currently living in was anything like the turmoil of the ‘60s. I had no good answer for them but - sometimes - I need a long lead time to process things.
To begin with, I think we would all like to believe that - as a country - we have been here before. We all want to know that, eventually, everything will be all right. The turmoil will, sooner or later, subside.
That evening I pointed out that in 1970 I was just fourteen. The ‘60s were kind of a blur. In addition, I grew up in a north Dallas suburb that, at the time, was about as racially segregated as you could get, and was not the best perspective on what was going on in the rest of the country.
But as I thought about their question in light of the events of the past forty-eight hours, I think this time has some stark differences.
The clashes and conflagrations in the ‘60s started with Black people pushing for civil rights and ended with riots and protests related to the Vietnam War. Due to the military draft, the Vietnam War protests drew a much greater cross-section of America. I would guess that they would be more similar to what is happening now, except instead of groups of militia vigilantes, there was the National Guard.
In the early ‘60s, Black people were fighting for their right to ride at the front of the bus, fighting for their right to drink from the same water fountain, fighting for their right to sit at the same lunch counter as whites and fighting for their right to vote.
They were fighting and struggling and getting into some ‘good trouble’ for some basic human rights.
There were white people marching with them but not in the same numbers as now.
The current president’s dysfunction, planned incompetence, laissez faire government and populist fervor have ripped the scab off and exposed systemic racism in all of its ugliness. I don’t believe - even with Richard Nixon - that racists ever felt so emboldened.
Today, Black people are not fighting for the basic human rights. They are fighting for something less tangible, but so much more important - dignity, respect, egality. These are not things that a government can grant with the swipe of a pen.
But a government that does not encourage or foment a race war would be a start.
A government that does not flaunt its ties to white nationalists would be a start.
A government that doesn’t demonize immigrants, others and countries from Africa would be a start.
A government that doesn’t actively try to suppress voter turnout and admit they are hoping to suppress the turnout would also be a start.
A government that was concerned about why Black Americans, percentage-wise, are more likely to end up behind bars or wind up dead at the hands of the police force would be a start.
Our president once said he thought ‘these days’ - it might have been the ‘90s when he coughed up these words - Black people had an advantage in America. That it would have been more advantageous for him to have grown up Black.
He was younger then. But he was the same asshole he is today.
He is the biggest difference between now and then. He’s the wild card. Normally, a president would be looking to defuse situations. He is always looking to exploit situations. Normally a president would attempt to dial down the rhetoric. His default mode is to amp it up.
But as I write and think about all the hand-wringing we’re having to do due to being saddled with the 45th best president in history, I think about the backdrop of the pandemic and climate change and the economic uncertainty and I realize the upheaval of the ‘60s was child’s play comparatively.
Heavy sigh.
I’m leaving tomorrow on an extended river trip where I know I will be able to slough off the grit and grime and grunge of all that is happening for a longed for respite. My worries will be far more immediate: food, dehydration, yellow jackets, the threat of rain or wind squalls, sunburn, sand in my sleeping bag.
Almost a week where I won’t be reminded of how much hate exists in the world. In fact, it will be the opposite. I will be reminded, despite whatever the weather does, how much beauty is in the world. How much good resides in people. How much my dog dislikes the flapping of tarps and the thrum of whitewater. How tasty a beer can be even when it is not ice cold.
I’ll get back into the fray upon my return. I’m sure little will have changed.