protests

Pics or it didn’t happen: 1989

~ MaryG ~ 15 Comments

If you’re GenX like me, about half your life was captured on film only (if at all). Digital cameras were not a thing when we were kids. If you were the third or fourth kid in the family, there may be very few photos of you as a child. This is not the case with me. I am the oldest and my parents were diligent. There are a lot of pics of me as a kid. Later on, I liked taking photos and even took a photography class or two.

Therefore, I’ve got a huge closet full of photo albums, boxes of loose photos, and a folder of black and white negatives in my basement, most of which have not been digitized. These include photos from throughout my life from 1965 through the birth of my second child in 2000. (After that, we went digital.) The photo albums are pretty easy to leaf through as they mostly have the correct year on the spine. And the boxes aren’t too bad because they’re pretty small. Until this weekend, I had ignored the big folder of negatives.

Welp, I finally decided to have a look and it turns out that the negatives are almost entirely from the year 1989–the year I took a photography class at the Museum of Fine Arts School in Boston. There are apps now for scanning negatives with your phone. I used one called FilmBox. It worked OK. There were a few surprises in those negatives. Things I had completely forgotten or only vaguely remembered were jolted back into my mind through the tiny black and white images.

My three best friends from college and me in Boston’s North End. This was about 18 months after we graduated. I had forgotten that we briefly all lived in the same city.
This was an art exhibition opening at the museum where I got my first job: The Institute of Contemporary Art. I had forgotten about those openings and the cheap white wine we always served at them. I typically invited my friends who lived in Boston.
The woman on the right, Teil, was my second boss at the museum. She taught me so much and was such a wonderful person. I think this is the only picture I have of Teil. It’s appropriate that she has a plastic cup of that cheap white wine in her hand.
I had forgotten that my 80s friend Debbie came to visit me in my first studio apartment in the Fenway. Seeing her in front of my turntable, CDs and record albums (in milk crates) reminded me of how people used to look through each others music collections as a way of sort of figuring out what they were like. At that point, I think our musical tastes were diverging, but we both liked Prince.
In that same studio apartment, I had forgotten that my very bad cat Kimba was SO bad that I had to keep the bathroom trashcan above the mirror or he’d spread it all around the apartment. He was very cute, but a real pain in the neck.
I definitely remember going to the massive March on DC for abortion rights in April 1989, but had forgotten I went with two friends from work—Ann and Bridget. Later that year, Bridget and I became roommates in the North End.
We tried. 😢

Rich old white people

~ MaryG ~ 10 Comments

I’m losing my patience with rich old white people. And by “rich” I mean comfortable…people who are in absolutely no danger of not being able to pay their monthly bills and buy groceries. People who take vacations—without fail. And by “old” I mean people who were old enough to vote for or against Ronald Reagan at least once. People like me…and my friends..and my parents…and their friends.

We are the privileged. We can say what we want. We can protest publicly without fear. Nobody is going to deport us.

If people in this demographic haven’t publicly taken a side by this point, I really don’t want to sit around and make small talk with them anymore. Politely avoiding the big three (money, politics and religion) is so tedious. I really don’t give a shit if there’s a new Trader Joe’s opening near your house, if you haven’t done one single thing to denounce Trumpism. In fact, if you’ve never made it clear (through conversations, social media posts or other actions) that you do not support Trump, I’m just gonna assume you do. And in that case, I’m really done with you, with very few exceptions.

Other than a handful of federal judges, a couple of law firms, and Harvard University, there is really very little institutional power behind the resistance at the moment. The American people are the only thing that’s gonna stop this train.

And as a reminder, everything that we ever wanted for our children and grandchildren is at stake now—even for the rich white ones.

Public education, our great national parks, scientific research, the planet, equality, freedom, democracy, healthcare, world peace, the rule of law, economic security…we could lose it all.

If you think I’m exaggerating, please read this gift article from today’s NYT.

So, to my fellow old rich white people: be brave, do something, say something, write a blog or a Facebook post, contact your legislators, fly a diversity flag, make a sign, go to a protest (maybe your first!), confront your MAGA relatives, donate to the ACLU or another organization in the fight.

Then, maybe, I’ll be interested to hear a bit more about that new Trader Joe’s and whether or not they carry wine.

If you’ve ever been on a goddamn river cruise in Europe, you should have spoken out about at least one issue by now.

Mass protests (sigh)

~ MaryG ~ 10 Comments

OK, I think I get it now.

I had been hoping our elected Democrats were going to do the heavy lifting for us fighting back against authoritarianism and protecting democracy (at least until the midterms). But it doesn’t seem like that’s the case.

Having watched interviews with a few Senate democrats recently, I have come to the conclusion that their plan is us. It seems like they’re waiting for public outrage and mass protests to emerge so huge that they will be impossible to ignore and that this will somehow bend the trajectory of this country away from fascism.

If you didn’t get your invitation yet, here’s what’s happening April 5:

OH MY GOD, we’re literally protesting everything. My first thought is I’m tired and that sounds like a LOT. Jamming Boston Common (or DC or NYC or wherever) with thousands of other people holding all sorts of signs, with no bathrooms and no place to park, does not sound fun. Second, I’ve done mass protests before and they don’t seem to work. Third, is this type of thing still safe in America? What if Dear Leader pulls some crazyass shit—like declares “martial law”—and sends in the military? I have never been tear-gassed and I don’t want to be!

Sigh…

What to do? It’s a real dilemma for me.

Keep on Moving Forward

~ MaryG ~ 2 Comments
Daily writing prompt
How has a failure, or apparent failure, set you up for later success?
View all responses

Sometimes failure is just failure. The plays I didn’t get cast in, the rejection from my first-choice college, the math class I dropped because it was too hard, and the fellowship and jobs I didn’t get, are all examples of times I objectively failed.

People talk a lot about “grit and resilience,” usually in the context of blaming today’s parents for being too protective and helicopter-y. Well, failure forces you to build those qualities, even if your parents somehow messed-up.

What other choice do you have in the face of failure? You gotta keep going.

“Keep on Moving Forward” by Emma’s Revolution is my all-time favorite protest song. I think it inspires personal fortitude, as well as strength to keep fighting for a better world.

KEEP ON MOVING FORWARD
© 1984 Pat Humphries
Moving Forward Music, BMI
www.emmasrevolution.com

Gonna keep on moving forward
Keep on moving forward
Keep on moving forward
Never turning back
Never turning back

Gonna keep on moving proudly
Gonna keep on singing loudly
Gonna keep on loving boldly
Gonna reach across our borders
Gonna end the occupations
Gonna stop these wars together
Gonna keep on moving forward

Pat Humphries and Sandy O (Emma’s Revolution)

IT’S SUPER TUESDAY in the USA. Don’t waste your right to vote.

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