Showing posts with label Quitting America. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Quitting America. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Mr. Randall Robinson -- a Black man for whom I have the utmost respect

My cousin in Charleston called me yesterday and I was glad.  You see, since those murderers in DC killed Miriam Carey, I've been extremely uneasy -- in a rage really.  I needed to talk to someone who knew me well, so I could sufficiently release it before my head exploded.

We talked about a lot of family and home things (young, Veronica Brown's well-being weighs heavily on my mind still), and she let the raging old, foul-mouthed sailor in me spew forth.  As I was telling her how sick and damned tired I was about plenty on the national front (particularly the murders of Ms. Carey and the diabetic, Jack Lamar Roberson in Waycross, GA, as well as the self-immolation of John Constantino on the Mall in DC), she interrupted me,  reminding me of our departed, "strong, Black woman" grandmother:
"You remember how Grandmama used to say she was just weary when people got on her last, damned nerve?"

"Yes," I said, smiling to myself in instant recollection. "That's exactly how I feel, Verne -- I'm so damned weary!"

We simultaneously laughed out loud, then she said, "I can tell!"
The reason I share that little vignette, is because after we hung up I was pensive. I felt she'd helped me let the air out of the tire a little, but as I sat with myself, I thought about Randall Robinson and his book, Quitting America: The Departure of a Black Man from His Native Land and I went to my bookmarks to listen to his soothing, worldly and informative voice for about an hour.  Not quite sated though, I decided to get full.  I opened a bottle of wine, sat on my screened porch, put my feet up -- and listened to this wonderful CSPAN BookTV Interview from earlier this year on my laptop:



As I listened to that calm voice, gracefully telling the fullness of our story (and theirs), I felt the rest of that air slo-o-owly seep out of the tire.

This wonderful, 72 year-old Black man -- in his own first-person account -- was coolly expressing for me, a damn-near verbatim confirmation (albeit with way more couth than I can muster these days) of all the legitimately seething, anger I feel for this country and its procession of insecure and selfish, megalomaniacal pseudo-leaders with their global "military footprint" at home and abroad.

Gotti
Blanca
By the end of the video and that bottle of wine -- me and my pupples, Blanca and Gotti had all calmed down (both of them asleep at my feet in the waning Texas sun); the pounding in my head had stopped; I was full, and extremely happy I'd chosen to spend the evening with the esteemed and absolutely honorable, Randall Robinson.  I hope you will be too!


Related:
- Randall Robinson Interview, The Progressive
- Randall Robinson (Books)
- Georgia Police Kill Diabetic After Family Calls 911 For Ambulance

- The Normalization of Violence Against Black Women
- Freedom Rider: Aaron Alexis, Miriam Carey and John Constantino
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