Dissent--Collage

Starbucks Opens its Bathrooms

The policy has officially changed

So there might be a silver lining to that racist scene involving two Black men in a Philadelphia franchise who tried to use the bathroom while waiting for a business colleague and wound up in police custody. Starbucks has now announced that, unlike other capitalist enterprises, it will officially make their bathrooms available to anyone who enters their premises, whether or not they purchase anything at all. 

It's about time as far as I'm concerned. Why should libraries and hospitals be the only institutions that cater to the public biological needs? Those of us in the tiny bladder brigade salute them.

Restroom philosophy varies depending on the country and culture. Public markets and spaces in Mexico usually have bathrooms available for a small fee. They are run as a business enterprise, kept clean and waiting for customers. It can be a drag to always have change available but it's well worth it for the easy access.

However, sometimes paying to pee is a slap in the whatever. In Peru, at Machu Picchu you have to pay an arm and a leg for admission and then pay extra to use the pisser. This is an unfair tax on women and old people. If you spend, say six hours, there (and it's a big place where it's easy to spend the day) you might, if you're like me, have to go three times. In that case you should be able to purchase an express pass or something. But if you're like my partner Deborah, who is a woman with a super-sized bladder, you may only have to go once. It's simply unfair.

Then, there's Paris. Well, it's different everywhere but in Paris most cafe/restaurant owners were not thrilled if I snuck in to find a toilette. I had to be single focused and pretend I didn't understand them when they used that francophone logic in a futile attempt to deter me. It's not that I'm cheap, well maybe a little, but ordering another drink of something because you have to pee too often is counterproductive, to say the least.

Ah, but Madrid, my beloved city. Any haven for drinkers of wine and beer will inevitably be heaven for perpetual seekers of the aseos, their name for the old servicios where you aseo belongs.  Spanish bathrooms are plentiful and easy to find. They have a lot of small rooms with full walls for privacy. In fact, most espanoles find the type of public restrooms in the US, that consist of a row of stalls, disgusting and invasive, a kind of TMI of bodily functions. In Spain, even in hotel lobbies, people will kindly point you to your destination, even if you are not a guest.

So Starbucks is making its mark on US restroom history finally providing all Americans that proverbial pot to piss in. We have lost so much of late, it's the least they can do.

Remembering Uncle Norman

Uncle Norman and 16 year-old me, arguing on Xmas.

Many people have an Uncle Norman. He's the guy at the family gathering who shouts and sputters about right-wing politics. My Uncle Norman stuttered. He was alt-right half a century before the term was invented. He made family gatherings interesting, if verbal warfare is something you enjoy. He was my mother's brother. My father called him "Stormin' Norman."

He lived in Akron Ohio which was only about 30 miles away. Even so, we only got together once a year on December 25th.  My family was small and everyone was there. My father's mother Josie and Norman's parents, Ruth and Al. We celebrated in a secular, Jewish fashion which involves and lot of drinking, eating, yelling and animated talking.

Norman and I argued about politics: the Vietnam War, protests, feminism, the police and their powers, self-expression, women's fashion, you name it, we fought about it. At that time the big issue was the war in Vietnam which he considered a fight for freedom. He loved the police and would dwell on how powerless I would be as a young woman to defend myself against rape without them. In the Roy Cohn tradition, he loved capitalism and hated commies. I honed my debate skills in these sessions.

I wasn't totally out to myself as lesbian in those years, but I knew I was desperately different than my friends. When Norman would tell me that I would change after I got married, I responded that marriage wasn't in the cards for me. He said that I'd change my mind. When I replied that he never married and that I was like him, he turned red, stuttered and changed the subject. Same gender marriage was so far off the map in the sixties, no-one even speculated about that.

I have reason to believe that Norman never had an intimate sexual relationship. Of course, I don't know this for sure but I know that he never talked of female friends or acquaintances. He was socially unskilled. He worked as an engineer. I think he was part of a bowling league. When my father and mother first met, my father paid a prostitute to try to seduce him. She was unsuccessful. I'm almost positive he was gay and I'm also sure that it was something he never acted upon. Although he didn't believe in religion, he scorned gay people. It was not a group in which he desired to participate.

He was fully Jewish in a racial sense, and deeply ashamed of it as well. He was the only Jew I've ever heard state, seriously, that Hitler had a point. It astonished me the way he took self-hatred to new levels.

Stormin' Norman died September 22, 2017. I only know that because I got a legal, registered letter in the mail that I had to sign for. It said that if Norman had died without a will (intestate) my sister and I would be the ones to inherit his estate, but since that's not the case they legally had to let me know that we are not in his will in case we want to pursue legal action. The will becomes a public document in a few weeks. The lawyer says it will be online. It will be interesting to see if he died with money and what people or groups he left it to. It wouldn't surprise me if it has gone to organizations like the NRA or groups fighting to turn back same-sex marriage.

Oddly enough, now that he is no longer in this world, I miss him. 

When Cultures Collide

I ran into an ex best-friend today at N. Waterfront Park in Berkeley. It was an unavoidable meeting, both of us walking different directions on the same, rather obscure, path. I know it was unavoidable because, in the past ten years that we haven’t spoken, if I saw her from a distance, I would find another route to avoid her. This time she came upon me fast. Worse yet, my partner, who is still Facebook friends with her, said hello. So we all said hello and briefly compared notes on retirement and moved on. No big deal. But it was painful nonetheless because of the cloud under which we parted ways, the one that ended our friendship of thirty-three years.

We first met in a CR group at the Women’s Center on Brady Street in around 1976. I was an emotional wreck just surviving after the untimely death of my mother in 1973 and the suicide of my grandmother that followed the same year. I was alone caring for my sister in a strange city. Cathy wanted to be friends and I needed friends desperately. Although her class background was similar to mine (lower middle class) she was very different. Her ethnic background was WASP and very self-contained. Especially so because her mother had acute mental illness. She didn’t want to talk much about deep stuff and neither did I so we were a perfect match.

We talked feminist politics which evolved into leftist politics. I was careful with her as though I was walking on eggs. Instinctively knew that my unleashed, assertive, blatantly Jewish-style of interacting would scare her. So I kept it at bay. This took the form of censoring and toning down my feelings and impressions. I don’t have to be tacky and uncouth just because my family was, I told myself. Cathy was smart and loving when she decided to be but her rules were strict and inflexible. She would counsel me on dating situations telling me when to call a potential date, how many times to try, when to send a card and what consists of an appropriate gift. These rules of etiquette were helpful for me because they were so completely absent in my coming of age experience.

Time may not heal all wounds but it does diminish them. That’s what happened to me as the years passed. Partly it was because I was meeting other lesbians of my own ethnicity who I related really well with. They were proud of their backgrounds and didn’t hold themselves back. As I grew freer, more secure in myself, I began naturally reverting to the style of interaction in which I was raised. It’s more of an organically grown conversation where one thing reminds you of another so you move on to the similar thing and the other person responds with more information about their experience and it builds organically from there. It involves both speaking and listening. Just trying it out made me feel better immediately. For Cathy that was not the case. She felt unheard, not listened to. Cathy believed that every addition I made to the subject was a subtraction from her perspective. She insisted that heavy exploration of a personal subject must consist of one person holding forth while the other is absolutely silent. Of course I hoped that, after all those years, we could work it out, that she’d realize it was just a difference in cultural styles not in emotional worthiness.

Later, I would post articles on my Facebook page about Jewish conversational styles and how the dynamics of social interaction are culturally determined. But later was too late for Cathy and I. We made many attempts at compromise and a number of aborted attempts at connecting. It would work for a while and then I would slip back to my natural state. She blamed it all on me and I took on that mantle too. After all, wasn’t I the one who changed? The blunt truth was that she liked the person I’d pretended to be quite a bit more than the one I actually was. And I could not settle for anything less than my genuine self.

The last time we spoke was at her place, the very same house I had convinced her to buy with a lawsuit settlement so many years earlier. Before leaving I said, “Well, this is it. I guess that unless one of us is dying of cancer or something, we won’t see each other again.” She said nothing. We haven’t seen or spoken a word until today when I was filled with that same old feeling of loss and sadness; a coming to terms with the fact that not all conflicts are reconcilable.

Day of the Dead Collage--2017

Fascism: A Cancer That Can Metastasize

The far right wing, emboldened by our incompetent, narcissistic, morally impaired president, is now crawling out of the cyber-shadows and appearing on our streets. It’s an appalling, but not totally unexpected sight. Their handiwork of hate crimes has been increasingly visible everywhere for some time now. And yes, like a cancer, they have always been among us, in remission, so to speak. 

On the radio today, Marxist economist Richard Wolff explained how after every economic downturn, fascism with its bigotry, scapegoating and authoritarianism rears its ugly head. The examples he cited were after the stock market crash and depression Spain fell to Franco, Italy to Mussolini and Germany to Hitler. The United States was in peril as well. Ku Klux Klan activity, race riots and lynchings proliferated in the late 1920s when Klan membership exceeded four million. American Neo-nazi groups extolled by prominent people such as Norman Rockwell, Henry Ford and Charles Lindbergh openly marched in the streets.

In 1933 when Roosevelt was elected, poverty was rampant and the rich were making money hand over fist. But in the thirties labor unions and communist and socialist organizations were a force to be reckoned with. His three terms, 1933-1945 encompassed the turbulent war years. He instituted a plethora of anti-poverty programs such as the New Deal, Social Security and Unemployment Insurance. He did this not because of altruism and concern, but under intense pressure from labor unions and leftist parties who were not only threatening revolution, but had the numbers, motivation and organizational capabilities to lead one. He taxed the rich to pay for his programs and, in the United States, the working and middle classes prospered in spite of the lingering effects of economic collapse.

Sound familiar? Except that now, no-one in the administration is looking out for the 99 percent. So as housing prices skyrocket and the stock market rises astronomically, the American worker’s salary flat lines. Everyone goes looking for someone to blame. Identity politics run wild without a class analysis in sight. And, the cancer of fascism embodied in the Neo-Nazis the Ku Klux Klan and other “Traditional Family” groups is unchecked and growing exponentially. Can it metastasize here? If we don’t excise it immediately, it can. That why when folks say we should ignore the combative right wing, they are mistaken. Ignoring cancer doesn’t make it go away. I was glad that so many people in Berkeley agreed with me on this and showed up to protest. Don’t let fear immobilize you. This is not Germany in 1933. We can win this fight. We have to. 

The Ethnicity that Dare Not Speak Its Name

The speed with which anti-Semitic attacks memes, tropes and philosophies have become common place occurrences is truly astonishing. As a proud, secular, leftist, lesbian Jew, I have been around long enough to know and expect anti-Semitism from the right. Growing up in Ohio of the nineteen fifties, outside of my community, I heard the word “Jew” most often used as a verb. But even though, I was perpetually warned by my family that, one day, this prejudice would resurface with a vengeance. I never truly believed it, until now.

The Chicago Dyke March organizers, after turning away three marchers holding rainbow flags with six-pointed stars on them, have repeatedly stated that now that “Anti-Zionist” Jews are welcome at their events while “Zionist” Jews are not. July 13, 2017 the Chicago Dyke March Committee re-tweeted David Duke, former grand earthworm of the KKK. They stated, "Zio tears replenish my electrolytes." I can't believe that the dyke community, my community could stoop to this level of name calling using Neo-Nazi slurs! On July 9th in Berkeley at a meeting:“United Against Hate – A forum on how to combat the increase in racist violence,” I and about 250 others listened as speakers addressed various issues as well as the need to fight the rise in white supremacist violence. Most speakers were inclusive, trying to build a diverse, left-wing coalition. One speaker was confusing however, using the words, Zionist and White Supremacist together and somewhat interchangeably, without really defining either.

In other instances regarding racial, ethnic, religious and national groups, individuals are separated from their current, former or ancestral governments in a way which American Jews are not. It would be considered prejudiced and misinformed to blame Chinese-Americans for imperialism in Tibet or Turkish-Americans for Erdogan’s encroaching authoritarianism. What makes it okay to conflate Jewish Americans with Israel? Why should Jews have to face extra political scrutiny that NO OTHER group faces?

Jews are in a uniquely vulnerable position, targeted by foes on both the right and left. Like individuals of any group, there is no universal agreement on politics or strategy. What does it mean, concretely, to divide Jews into good ones and bad ones in a time of increasing anti-Semitism? Say, for example, if a Jewish home is targeted with some form of anti-Semitic harassment or violence, must we must first ask whether anyone in the home is “Zionist” before defending them?

Stereotypically Jews are seen as enemies from both sides. Depicted as the ultimate capitalists, bankers, Hollywood moguls, intellectual elites and privileged rich. And conversely Jews are seen as the embodiment of Bolsheviks, race-mixers, trade unionists and the muck-rakers? In a scary time, full of hatred, Jews walk a line between mine fields. 

The best way to undermine “Zionist” cries for a Jewish state, is to fight like hell to make the USA a safe haven for Jews as well as other minorities. Just as we are trying to defeat all the other isms that are coming to prominence in the time of upheaval. As we battle racism in all its insidious forms, can’t we as leftists just say we are opposed to antisemitism too without qualifying it? If some Jews get thrown under the bus, that bus is going to mow down a lot of other folks too. History has taught us that what Ben Franklin said is true: “We must, indeed, all hang together or, most assuredly, we shall all hang separately.”