I read a post on Facebook a couple of days ago, written by SF Bay Area woman who looks on the bright side of things. I’m sure she didn’t mean any harm. She just wanted to spread good tidings, happy thoughts, and life-affirming optimism. But, the post irritated me. My first instinct was to blast her with my usual sarcasm.  Instead, I opened up a word document on my computer and pretended she was going to read my retort. All the while, wishing I weren’t so reactive. Why can’t I just go with the flow? However, I couldn’t let it go. 

We’ve all become intimate with COVID-19. Older adults and people who have severe underlying medical conditions like heart or lung disease or diabetes seem to be at higher risk for developing more deadly complications from COVID-19 illness. In the United States, we’re well over 100,000 confirmed dead and growing.

Ms. Thangs’ Positive Vibe On Covid-19,

She wrote. “Here is the thing. I am very grateful to be living in San Francisco. The population is about 850,000. We currently have 32 deaths from Covid19 last I heard.  Our hospitals are overrun. UCSF hospital is giving tests for anyone who wants one for Covid19. I live in a nice neighborhood, which I rarely leave during the quarantine.” 

She continued. “There is no lockdown. Many essential services are open. There is a hill I can take a walk in and see wild animals: a red hawk, coyote, and ravens. My front garden is full of roses. I decided to see a nutritionist, and now I am taking a bunch of natural remedies like cod liver oil. I buy organic fruits and vegetables from the health food store and the farmers market—all in my neighborhood.”

And ended with.“There is a variety of take-outs near my house. Thai food, Middle Eastern, East Indian, Chinese and Italian. Along with various deli and sandwich places. Coffee to go places. I am in no way hurting.  My roommate is a pain in the ass, but other than that I am fine. I am focusing on my health and my home at this time. We have a beautiful garden full of roses. Our mayor is not planning on opening up, and I am glad. It is not over by a long shot. Stay safe and hug a tree.

• It’s a positive post, right?
• Some people just see the glass as half full.
• Perhaps it’s just an attempt to promote calmness and let us know she’s hanging in there. 

At least that’s what I hope she meant.  However, since I live in a perpetual state of “fight or flight,” and I’m an emotionally trigger-happy woman these days, I wanted to choke her. 

Asata’s Response

I wrote.“Spare me. You incredibly fortunate, and out-of-reality-touch conceited living in gentrified SF inhabitant.  But you already know that. You are most likely trying to stay upbeat, right? I get it. I’m sure it wasn’t your intention to be insensitive.  However, sometimes words have an unintended negative effect on people like me. I mean, have you noticed homeless people wandering the streets of SF during this pandemic? They have no unemployment checks, no health benefits, no “shelter-in-place,” no masks, and no energy to stare at the local wildlife unless it’s hungry and aggressive rats looking for garbage on the empty streets of SF.

I continued. “Most of my family, colleagues, and friends live in California. And, thank God they’re doing OK. But, I have yet to hear any of them bragging about their life under lockdown.  Sure I have one brother who lives near the ocean. His teen sons continue to surf but, they don’t run into many people, he said.   He and his wife are accustomed to working at home, along with some of my other siblings.  

I ‘m still venting. “My son is an essential worker and takes precautions to make it work for him and his two kids. Other members of the family live on the East Coast, including New York, a state devastated by this Virus. I hold my breath that none of them will die through one of my husband’s cousin recently tested positive.”

Winding down.“I’m afraid that my husband, also considered an essential worker, is in harm’s way every day at work. He has to wear a mask and rubber gloves for over 8-hours.  Some assignments require him to check the temperatures of workers going into call centers or hospitals. The other day he sent me this text.  “Today, I will tell you this. Leave a plastic bag for me in the backyard. “O,h, Oh,” I texted back.

UPSET

A few hours later, I heard the car pull up in the driveway, and I went to meet him at the backyard gate. I watched as he stepped out of the car, gathered up everything from t, he car, and proceeded to strip naked. He then smashed all his clothes into the plastic trash bag and securely tied it.  The man was visibly distressed.  Several people tested positive for COVID-19 at the hospital. “One old man,” he said, “Came in with open blisters on his face and looked like his skin was melting off.  And, the coughing. I’ve never heard anyone coughing like that before, “he sighed.

“One person released from a different hospital ended back at this ER and tested negative. However, the symptoms came back.  Two others were flown in by helicopter—others by ambulance. People were crying. Nurses and medical assistants were running around from room-to-room and patient-to-patient.

One woman’s family tried to convince her that she needed to go to the ER, but she refused to go.  She dropped down to the ground as a family member was dragging her by her arms as she freaked out. One of the nurses explained they couldn’t force treatment on her.  They’d have to call the PD (police department) for that. It was chaos,” he exclaimed.

Seldom have I seen this man burdened. He’s one of the “cool and collected” men. He spent 2-years in Iraq and came home with a hollowed look and, this was the first time I saw it again. This man doesn’t start shit but, he’ll finish it if he has to. I grabbed the tied plastic bag, dashed into the house, and shoved the clothes into the washing machine. I set it on an extra hot wash cycle.

While he showered, I went outside and sprayed his boots and the rolling bag he takes with him with disinfectant. A little later, he came downstairs and continued. “I don’t know how these nurses do this for their 12-hour shifts – rapidly moving from one patient to the next—talking calmly to scared patients in low voices.

These nurses have families, and after a day of this, they go home and to take care of their own families, said.  I don’t think I could do that; he was breathless.“If you had too, you would,” I replied. “These frontline workers are angels. And other essential workers, like you, are important too.” We both sat there then held hands. I felt scared. He was working in hospitals more often. 

Keep Contaminated Laundry Separate

Getting back to the post, I’m Still Mad: After a day like the one I described up above, I flashbacked to Ms. Thang’s and her bragging about eating healthy food and having an array of “ethnic” restaurants to eat in, while a dear friend of mine is about to lose hers. Many of those small restaurants will likely close because greedy corporations scooped up all the money earmarked to help them out.  Just imagine, I turned to Ms. Thang,  all those favorite haunts of yours GONE when this is all over. So, you better enjoy them now.  

Only Healthy Organic Food in Ms. Thangs Tummy.

So what do you think? Should I care about someone’s roses or excursions to a farmer’s markets when the world is in a panic? 

OK, I admit. This article would be a little too much for such a well-meaning post on Facebook. I own that. But,  I tend to see things through an empty glass when it comes to political issues, especially around the haves and have-nots.  Of course, she should enjoy (and support) her local restaurants, admire the animals that can frolic in SF since the people are locked in their houses.

There’s nothing wrong with hanging out with laptops or iPads at the neighborhood coffee joints. But, please think about those who can barely afford to pay their rent or can’t work at home. Or concern for the mostly female workers who are still required to sit in chat center cubicles through this pandemic.  One Facebooker was diplomatic but left her a dig, writing that she hadn’t mentioned any time she spent volunteering at the local soup kitchen. Amen.

The SF Bay Area

 

First, these kinds of attitudes from a Ms. or Mr. Thang’ aren’t unusual to hear in parts of California. I got there in my twenties from Boston and stayed for 30 years. In my 50’s I moved to Arizona another clueless place in the United States, mostly conservative, mostly,y Republican, with lots of rebels who demanded their civil rights not to wear masks with guns on the state capital’s steps (but, that’s another story).

I consider myself a “Progressive.” An activist of sorts, so I have a good feel for the vernacular and the attitudes of the Bay Area. I believe in all the issues being a part of that group implies and, in some regards, requires. My affiliations, though often fraught with contradictions, make me proud. I’ve always fought with the support of well-meaning folks

The most startling thing I learned about many ‘Progressives” is that many of them come from some sort of privilege. They come from good jobs, wealthy families, and property. Many have Bachelor and Masters Degrees.  There are very few GED’s in that camp. And, I fit right in. I went to a good school and earned my college degree with starts and stops in between

Activists with Entitlement Don’t Flaunt It.

First. It takes you time to learn just how much privilege these folks are sitting on, though.  I don’t know if it’s guilt or not. Sometimes glimpses of it come to the forefront. Some acknowledge it, and some are oblivious of how it controls their thinking. Probably like Ms.Thang.

Second. I was always caught by surprise when I’d learn, after years of knowing a person in this circle, that when their parents died, they inherited farms, condos, rows of apartments & houses, and fluffy stock options. Why were they living in poverty if that was the case? Why do they reject their heritage wearing Goodwill jeans and buying “distressed” furniture? One of my husband’s pet peeves. (He doesn’t understand wealthy Americans (he’s an immigrant) would purchase and showcase poor people’s old stuff.  

And, last. Do these people want to break free and prove they can make it on their own? Perhaps I was naive and didn’t understand the reality of some Bay Area Progressives? Would it have made any difference? Of course, most were on their P’s & Q’s. At the community radio station I worked at when it came to fighting and covering the pertinent issues of the day, they were unstoppable. But, it does make a difference when you have something to fall back on.

Let’s Take Helping Starving Children in Africa

First, you need cash for those “Immersive Experiences” in Third World Countries.

Oops, I mean in “Developing Countries.”   I have a pretty broad view of what makes someone an activist and birthright people (of all colors, races, and genders) live in a disparate world from those who come from a world of “no back-up resources plan.” As one of the latter, I’m aware of the awkward place these folks often find themselves in when all they want to do is the right thing. It’s sad when their feelings get hurt when they don’t understand why all their altruistic deeds go unsung.

They’ll jump right in with the best of intentions. And I love them for that. Without these sorts of people in my life, I wouldn’t have some of the enriching opportunities and advantages I’ve had. Opportunities that other Black folks didn’t have access to, and my parents never neglected to remind me of that when I got too cocky.  For example, think about the local volunteer work a lot of them do. Some of them are out their today even in the midst of a worldwide epidemic. Working in food banks and putting their own lives on the line.

They Want to Make a Difference.

And, they are, but you shouldn’t need praise for it. You do it because in your mind it’s the right thing to do. Kinda’ like when I grew up. We were told not to waste food (“waste not want not,” one of my aunt’s favorites) and clean your plate because children in China are starving. Now, I’ve grown to think, does someone with a starving child enjoy the idea of getting a hand-out no matter how much it is needed?

Race & Class Make a Handsome Couple.

I lost a dear and close friend who couldn’t understand why Black folks weren’t as excited about a Buddist group of white American women going to some country in Africa to build wells. When I tried to explain why there would be some resentment and why it might even feel insulting to the actual Africans they were going to help, she was stunned and insulted.

     She snarled, “Well, what have African-American’s done for Africans?”  

Those hurtful words came out of the mouth of a “Progressive” women-of-color I had loved and shared my life with for years.  I was shocked and angry, and I told her as much. Unfortunately, there was no coming back, and we ended a 20-year relationship.  As I said earlier, I live in a trigger-woman “fight or flight” space due to my brain injury and subsequent surgery. I’m not the same person and, it’s hard for people to understand and accept this “new” overly emotional person.

Message to the SF Bay Area Progressive Lady

So, I’m glad I didn’t post all of this response to Ms. Thang’s post.  It would have been overkill and, now that the Covid19 virus is slowly wiping out Black people, it feels even more precarious.   But, the next time she posts anything as foolish as asking us to appreciate how beautiful her roses are, I’ll ask what she is doing for anyone else. I’ll also ask if she took the time to smell them. These days, a lot of these beautiful roses have no scent. And, outward beauty doesn’t always mean it doesn’t stink.  And,  the time next time I run up on a post like Ms. Thang’s on Facebook, I’ll be better prepared. I won’t get all worked up. What I’d like to say is;

” OK, Girlfriend, you stay safe, wash your hands, don’t touch your face,  go hug a damn tree, enjoy the wildlife, and smells your beautiful stinky roses.    “What do you think? Still too mean?

 

SIDEBAR: THANK YOU MS. THANG

Thank you for schoolin’ me on this new “healthy” cod liver oil you discovered. Still, in all, my mother used to line her five kids up in the kitchen of our three-bedroom apartment in the Mission Hill Projects in Boston for our daily tablespoon of disgusting stinky oil from a hideous green bottle decades ago,

 

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