Us vs. Them: Racism, Religious Prejudice and Violence

It seems like every day at least one article about violence stemming racism, homophobia, or religious prejudice (or all of the above) comes through my newsfeed. I can recognize where the violence and bigotry come from: fear, ignorance, a deep seated sense of powerlessness, and primitive brain defensive mechanisms. Recognizing that doesn’t excuse it though; it condemns it. If we can recognize where these actions come from we, as a supposedly intelligent species, should be able to rise above and be better than this.

We are wired to classify the things in our lives. “Us vs. Them” thinking kept us safe and alive for a very long portion of human history. That which is unknown, or at least unlike the norm, always has the potential to be dangerous simply because we do not know that it isn’t. When we classify a thing as dangerous just because it is different it behooves us to study it to determine if our knee jerk reaction is correct or just an ancient fight or flight reflex. The problem is the way we learn about it can cause just as many problems as the original fear response.

So many people look for things to strengthen their prejudices and discard information that doesn’t with no concern about the reliability of the source of either type of information. They make assumptions without knowing anything about the people or subject involved, or based on just the most superficial of facts. They choose to strengthen their own fears rather than admit that they might be wrong. It’s easier and safer for the ego to vilify the “enemy” than to understand them. The media seems to have been actively supporting this with clickbait headlines, massively polarized articles, and "fake news."

When people don’t have power in their own lives for whatever reason (poverty, lack of education, lack of experience) it is easy to boost themselves up with the belief that they are somehow better than another group or that the other group is the reason for some aspect of their difficulties. When fear and powerlessness come together with the desire to do something about it people lash out, but they lash out where they can feel like they have power. They do not lash out at prey that might fight back and win, instead they attack those who are seen as weaker. They might even spout propaganda, like “The poor Muslim women are subjugated by the evil murderous Muslim men and sharia law!,” but then lash out at the terrifying spectre of Islam and sharia law wherever they can thereby taking control of their fear so as to not feel powerless against it. Adult white “Christian” men attacking Muslim girls and women are a good example of this. They neither see the hypocrisy of this, nor how it blatantly shows their fear and lack of power.

All of us can make steps against this type of fear and ignorance. Recognize your own prejudices and work to move past them. Educate yourself. Don’t believe the clickbait. Check sources. Look for multiple reputable sources. Make your voice heard when people say things that you recognize come from prejudice, ignorance, fear or powerlessness instead of truth. Stop supporting the idea that ignorance, fear, and the need to beef up macho power is an acceptable excuse for appalling verbal and physical behavior. The world is not Christian vs. Muslim, rich vs. poor, nor is it white vs. any other color. Look at it this way, the only Us vs. Them thinking we need to be doing at this point in our evolution is ”informed caring humans vs. those who haven’t reached that point yet” and the goal is not to shun or harm the people who are hiding behind a wall of fear and ignorance, but to inform them and help them past it so we can all work together to make our world a safe place for all people no matter thier color or creed.

They Never Told Me: Ruminations on Aging and Expectations

When I was a little girl I would roll out of bed, brush my teeth and all that, eat breakfast, get dressed (yes, in that order), and go outside and be active, or read, or build things. Other than school, little interfered with my free time. I never forgot what I was doing mid-process. I never was too sad, tired or in pain to want to get out of bed. I never thought ahead to meter out my time and energy so that I could make it through a day. I rarely worried about anything. There was nothing I couldn’t do if I tried.

The picture that is painted of adulthood for children glows brilliant with possibilities and freedom. Kids don’t see work hours and drudgery. They don’t see bills and bank accounts dipping dangerously low. Kids just see money to do things with and no adults telling them what to do or how to be. They don’t see the bosses, co-workers, other parents and community out there placing pressure on adults to adult correctly. Children don’t see doctor visits and pill caddies, medical tests and diagnoses. They don’t see doctors dismissing symptoms and insurance companies refusing medicines. Adults actively work to hide these things from them so as to not scare them about the stability and permanence of the adults in the children’s lives. Kids think everything is superheros and roses until someone grows old and grey and retires; then they go on cruises.

It’s part of the narrative we give children that falls apart as they grow up and the magic fades, along with belief in the tooth fairy and Santa Claus (I still believe though, he’s the Spirit of Giving and I dare anyone to tell me that isn’t alive during Yuletide.) Still, I wish I had known or at the very least had some awareness of how complicated it can be to be an adult. I might have enjoyed my body more while it still ran smoothly and had power and energy. No one tells you that your body might start to malfunction while you are still in what is considered the prime of your life. There is no guidebook available for the transition from capable to struggling.

Even other adults brush it aside with platitudes because everyone has aches and pains when they get older, you see. It can’t really be that bad, after all everyone gets tired now and then. Everyone gets sad and worries about things. Just cheer up and you’ll feel better. Adults are expected to suck it up and deal. We are supposed to get on with the adulting and not let things like chronic pain, fatigue, depression or anxiety affect us. Even other adults don’t want to face the reality of chronic conditions before retirement age: eyes closed, fingers in the ears, la la la la la la…

The thing is that it really is just life, but it’s a part of life that people hide. It’s not currently “normal” in modern society so we don’t want to see it or hear about it. There was a time when children grew up around birth, aging, and death. They lived life as part of the cycle, not apart from the cycle. Heck, they used to know that beef came from a cow, not from a pack at the market. Kids only know and accept what they are exposed to.

If we stopped hiding the less pleasant possibilities of life from, not just kids, but also adults, I can see life changing for the better for many people. I’m not saying to shove down children’s throats that being an adult can be difficult and that you never know when your health will fail, just stop hiding it. Stop pretending that everyone can do everything, all the time, perfectly. If it became accepted that some people just don’t have the energy or capability to be running their type A personality game 24/7/365 and we just started accepting that people will do the best within their abilities at that moment think of how much smoother life would run and how much happier everyone would be with less pressure to live up to.

Why I Hate Ground Wasps

Figuring I should be a good mom and conscript the children into forced labor in the not quite boilingly hot outdoors we went out to clear brush, move wood, and other such necessary home ownerly tasks. They are good boys, so there was no complaining about the conscription. Everything was going smoothly, although I did realize I probably should have had coffee, pain killers and a muscle relaxer first.

Then Little Bear stepped on a ground wasp nest. Well, more specifically, he stepped on the unstacked wood pile near where his brother had been working and the wood pile settling seemed to have started demolition proceedings on the nest. Needless to to say neither ground wasps nor Little Bear were at all pleased with this and much screaming and running about ensued.

This isn't the first time Little Bear and I have dealt with ground wasps. Several years ago we had an altercation with them when his school was on a hike so we already knew this was going to suck. I had him run into the house with them chasing him and then got his brother and myself into the house without any of the flying sadists. I had Little Bear strip off his pants on the back deck because that is where they had decided to go after him, straight up his pants... He was then sent to the kitchen. No tagalongs yet, but at least two bites and much screaming and tears.

A friend had just stopped by to pick up someone and offered to help so I had them go search for plantain while I found baking soda. They didn't find any, but in the meantime more screaming ensued. It turns out Little Bear had managed to bring one of his new friends inside with him and said friend was busy doing all sorts of damage through his sweatshirt! Like any good mom would do I panicked and tried to remain calm (yah, right) and got a paper towel and squished the guts out of the nasty bugger. Then we stripped everything off of him just to make sure he was bug free.

After coating him with baking soda, counting about 5-7 possible welts, and finding out our wasp death spray was empty, I went off in search of plantain partially because I knew Little Bear wouldn't be consoled until I found it even with advil and icepacks and partially because plantain really is a miracle cure for stings. I knew there was some at my older son's school so that is where I went, still no coffee and in my house grubbies and bra-less because, you know, that's what moms do.

I came home with handfuls of leaves, way more than I could possibly need, to find him still standing in the kitchen with icepacks, flaked off baking soda littering the ground around him, clutching his special stuffies, and still crying. I poulticed him up in the ancient fashion of chopped and pounded leaves covered with bandaids. Turns out there were only three real welts left after we washed off the baking soda. I'm drying the rest of the leaves I hastily harvested in case this happens again. Then we will get the chance to learn if dried leaves even work.

Then I cleaned the kitchen and had coffee. Definitely need to remember coffee before ground wasp attack next time, if there is a next time. Little Bear seems intent on no longer interacting with nature unless forced at gun point, but I deal with that particular issue once he heals.