It’s election day, two o’clock in the morning and I just woke up from a
crazy dream.
I wish I could say I had this prophetic vision that had
something to do with today’s electoral outcome. But I can’t. Even as I write
this, it’s fading fast. But there’s a couple things that stay with me. The most
important, was that my mother, who died in 2003, was there, just as
alive and lively as ever.
In the dream, Mama, some of my out-of-town siblings and I were
at some sort of party in Forest Park. I stepped outside for some fresh air and suddenly
the whole park became filled with people in Halloween-like costumes.
You know how in dreams the familiar becomes unfamiliar and a
few feet morphs into a few miles? Well, the atmosphere turned movie-style, purge-like and people
became threatening, screaming, knocking over fire-lit barrels of trash and acting all loud and manic. I was worried about my family’s safety but, try as I
might, I had a helluva time getting back to them. I had to navigate around out-of-control
people who kept knocking me way off course.
The atmosphere turned purge-like and people became threatening, screaming, they knocked over fire-lit barrels of trash and were all loud and manic. I was worried about my family’s safety but, try as I might, I had a helluva time getting back to them.
I remained diligent and got back to the party. My family were exiting the building when I
arrived. They were all a little drunk; laughing and talking about the good time
they just had. My mother, who in life rarely drank, was tipsy, too. I put here
on the back of my motorcycle (which I’ve never driven in life) and told my
siblings I’d meet them at the house. Turns out, “the house” was one of the
shotgun shacks we inhabited as kids. I picked Mama up like a baby and carried
her into a very familiar bedroom. I
swear I could smell that just-washed scent and feel the soft texture of her salt
and pepper Afro brushing against my cheek.
I laid her on her bed and covered her with a fluffy
comforter I suddenly remembered from decades ago. She whispered “thank you,
June Bug.” It was the name she called me and the last words she said to me the
night before she died. In the dream, she gave me that wonderful ole, Mama smile
and fell fast asleep.
Weird, right?
Part of the dream is easily explainable. I recently
submitted a piece for Washington University’s Common Reader publication related
to my experiences as a child in the Pruitt-Igoe public housing complex. I
called my older sister, Sharon, whose memory is a bit more accurate than mine. We not
only talked about Pruitt-Igoe, we discussed several of the ghetto neighborhoods
we lived after moving in 1968. Maybe that sense of nostalgia influenced my
subconscious.
Thus is the world we live in. It’s topsy-turvy and we’re forced to vote out of fear…fear of what either candidate may or may not do.
The rest of the dream had absolutely no relevance to other
things on my mind. Or did it? I know I fell asleep earlier than usual while
reading and worrying about today’s election. The very thought that the Republican
nominee, Donald Trump-an egotistic, narcissistic, lying, misogynistic, racist,
divisive, ignorant slice of inhumanity might be POTUS-shakes me to the core.
I’m not at all pleased that I must compromise my values by voting
for Democrat, Hilary Rodham Clinton, either. Even though I consider her an
elitist, establishment, compromising, candidate with no real compunction to address
the woes of people who live and look like me, she’s not Trump. And therein lies
the rub. I’m voting for Hilary but I’m voting for who she’s not, not who she
is.
Thus is the world we live in. It’s topsy-turvy and we’re
forced to vote out of fear…fear of what either candidate may or may not do. It’s
a social media, sloppy journalism, carnival-like environment where emotions,
race, xenophobia and tribalism trumps common sense and common values. We have
traveled so far from the time (eight or so years ago) when a tall, elegant candidate-who
just happened to be black-urged us to “hope,” make “change” and truly make
America “great” by helping it transcend its racial and religious hang-ups.
Well, we all know how that turned out. Americans are more tribal,
more angrier and more divided than before the Civil War. The Klu Klux Klan has
been re-invigorated because of Trump. And some of his supporters-responding to his
bogus claim of a “rigged election”-are talking about armed insurrection if he loses.
Some Republicans are already swearing gridlock and threatening to draft
legislation to reduce the number of Supreme Court justices if Clinton is
elected.
Maybe, just maybe, the part of my dream about crazy people
in costumes wreaking havoc reflected my fears about our post-election country. There
has been so much vitriol and hypocrisy in this election process. Most
surprising has been the litany of black preachers and Evangelicals who, over
the past decade or so, have been beating us over the head with their “family
values” mantra. How can they support an amoral, unscrupulous con man like
Trump is a mystery to me? Hate is more important than heaven, I guess.
The Klu Klux Klan has been invigorated because of Trump. And some of his supporters-responding to his bogus claim of a “rigged election”-are talking about armed insurrection if he loses.
Let me be clear, even if Trump loses, the sentiment that buoyed
his candidacy and the people who believe the crap he spews will still be out
there. They’re not just pick-up truck-driving, Mexican, Muslim, black and brown-hating,
uneducated, confederate flag-waving backwoods hillbillies either. They’re pastors,
cops, teachers, judges, lawyers, doctors, bankers, rural and urban city-dwellers
and “others” who all bought into the whole perverted Trump clown show because they
believe he reflects their values and concerns.
I am convinced that we are in another phase of the Civil
Rights movement. With Obama leaving office, the symbolism of “progress” is over.
We no longer have the false luxury of placing the onus of our future in the lap
of the first black president. Now more than ever, black people are going to
have to figure out a way to come together and save ourselves, our communities,
our children. Sure, the concerned and connected can help but the responsibility is on
us. The gathering of my brothers and sisters at a dire time could be applied to
that sentiment.
I thought I had made peace with my voting decisions though.
I’m voting for Hilary but I’m also supporting third party, down-ballot candidates
who seem to carry the momentum of Bernie Sanders’ campaign. Sanders’ messages
resonated with millions of people-most important young people. More than
300,000 people in Missouri voted for him during the primary. Personally, I
think it’s paramount that we keep Bernie’s “revolution” in motion at all costs.
Don Fitz, the Green Party candidate for governor will get my vote mainly
because he is the only candidate that spoke about addressing the disproportionate
social and economic woes that impact people who live and look like me.
We no longer have the false luxury of placing the onus of our future in the lap of the first black president.
It’s almost 4:30 now. Some are just waking up. My dream is
gone but I’m sitting here still trying to make sense of it. Perhaps it’s a stretch
but that comforting feeling of being with my siblings again, re-visiting my old
stomping grounds and putting Mama to bed did mean something after all. Maybe it’s
my mind’s way of telling me that, yes, the world has gone crazy; Yes, the charlatans
are running amok; Yes, racism is on the rise…again. Maybe the dream was a subtle
note to remember from whence I came; remember the times of poverty, turbulence
and racial chaos; Remember to be resilient and no one ever promised “progress”
without continuous struggle.
Perhaps it was just a mental movie for a restless soul. Who
knows, the childlike cravings for sanity in an insane world might have taken me
back home to Mama’s bedside. Maybe all I needed was that familiar, warm and wonderful
smile that once again assured “June Bug” that everything’s gonna be alright.
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VOTE!!!!!!
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