Someday: In Plain Sight

We are creatures of habit.

My daily routine is to read the newspaper first thing in the morning.  This used to be done sitting at the kitchen table with a nice cup of hot tea.  Though those days are gone thanks to the continuing demise of “paper” newspapers, I still read the news first thing in the morning except now it is on my computer.  And, yes, I still have the cup of hot tea as I scan the news.  Though it is not the same . . . the feel and crinkling of paper at my fingertips . . . ink smears on my hands . . . all gone to the past, yet I get the news.

 

Last week as I was going through the pages I caught a glimpse of a photograph.  The photo was not associated with any article.  It was just there.  Newspapers often do this . . . throw in a picture . . . as a filler for the page.  Apparently, some editor thought this picture would fit that purpose.  Whatever the case, it caught my attention.  The picture was of a mannequin with a red dress sitting on top of a power box in a vacant lot in downtown Billings—a location I drive by several times a day going and coming from my work at the university.  The photo was the first time that I saw it.  Not once did I see it as I made my daily commute. 

 

The mannequin was sitting at one of the busiest intersections in Billings . . . yet, somehow, I missed it.  But it caught my attention while reading the newspaper.  The photo’s caption noted that “the mannequin, which was installed without explanation, was only displayed a short time.”  It went on to explain that the lot it was sitting on has been vacant since the demolition of Burger King and the US Bank with no plans for redevelopment publicly made at this time. That was it . . . no further explanation . . . no further exploration of its meaning . . . just good ol’ filler . . . something to take up space.

 

I expect more from journalists . . . expect them to use their minds . . . to do a little homework . . . to show even a little curiosity.  No explanation?  No explanation!  The editor must be new to Montana . . . new to Indian Country.  Come on . . . it is a “red dress”!  Since 2010, the “red dress” has been a powerful symbol within the indigenous nations of Canada and the United States.  Created by Metis artist Jaime Black the “red dress” is used to draw attention and create dialogue on the issue of missing or murdered indigenous women . . . to point to the gendered and racialized nature of violent crimes against Native women and to evoke a presence through the marking of absence.  Annually there is a day set aside to commemorate and bring attention to this important issue and is known as “REDress Day” across both countries.  It is an issue that is epidemic.

 

On an empty lot at the intersection of 27^th and 6^th Streets was a silent, yet powerful statement that escaped most people’s attention.

 

This shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise . . . after all, such a topic or issue is not on the radar of most the population as the prominent race in the state of Montana is “white”.  The indigenous or Native American population is approximately seven percent in Montana.  It is not a “white” issue.  Despite being in plain sight, we are talking about an invisible population . . . one that is not often invited to the table.

 

But why argue with history . . . even though the history is wrong.  From the beginning there has only been one course of direction when it comes to the indigenous and that is to eliminate them.  History shows it.  Genocide is the method . . . even today . . . it is just more sophisticated and subtle.

 

Take for instance the recent scuttlebutt with the remarks of the Republican U.S. senate candidate Tim Sheehy about Native Americans.  Several recordings from speeches he gave at fundraisers last year are plaguing his campaign and getting him branded as a racist.  Statements that tribes and tribal leaders within and outside of Montana are demanding a public apology . . . one that has yet to come.

 

In one statement he is heard saying, “Great way to bond with all the Indians, to be out there while they’re drunk at 8A.M.”  In another he describes riding in the annual Crow Fair parade, “If you know a tough crowd, you want to go to the Crow rez.  They let you know whether they like you or not—there’s Coors Light cans flying by your head riding by.”  Hard to believe in the 21^st century, but here it is as reported by Billings KTVQ News.

 

Not the smartest thing to say and then have show up in a tight race that is only a few percentage points separating the two candidates!  With a difference of six percentage points between the two candidates and the indigenous population at nearly seven percent of the state’s population, I don’t think it serves Mr. Sheehy well to be insulting a base that could be the determining factor in the election.

 

Talk about a “red dress” statement!  Again, spoken in plain sight but slipping by most of the people.  Outside of the news stations, civil rights groups, and the tribes themselves there does not seem to be much credence being put into the situation by the average Montanan.  Instead, it seems to be greeted with a wink of the eye . . . a misinformed acknowledgement based on old stereotypes and racist beliefs.  But what would you expect . . . we are creatures of habit.

 

“Habit” is “a settled tendency or usual manner of behavior” . . . “an acquired mode of behavior that has become nearly or completely involuntary” . . . “a behavior pattern acquired by frequent repetition or physiologic exposure that shows itself in regularity or increased facility of performance” . . . a “manner of conducting oneself”.  Our habits inform the way that we see or not see the world and the people of the world around us.  We are used to it; thus we don’t flinch or even see a mannequin in a red dress on an empty lot.  We don’t squirm when racist stereotypes are flung around in our presence, or we laugh. That is our habit . . . we are used to it.  The world and the people of the world are invisible even though they are there in plain sight.  Or at least they are if they are not “one of us” . . . if they are not white.

 

I want to see.

 

I do not want to get caught in a mode of privilege because I was lucky enough to have white skin.  I do not want to think of myself as better than any other person—again, because of my skin color . . . or my education, economic level, physical ability, nationality, political party, gender, or anything that is a part of my identity.  I do not want to be a creature of habit that cannot see the world or the people around me for the wonderful, diverse, creative, unique gifts created by the Holy.  I do not want to be blind to the “holy” around me and the potential for what could be.

 

No, I want to open my eyes and see . . . open my ears and hear . . . open my heart and love.  I want to embrace life.  I want to acknowledge that which others do not or cannot see though it is in plain sight for all to see.  I do not want to be a creature of habit because that limits the world and the people who inhabit it . . . it places it in a box . . . it denies the “holy”.

 

I want to live . . . and I want others to join in.

 

In the movie American Beauty, one of the characters is a teenage loner who is viewed by the other characters as a misfit who doesn’t fit in or belong.  His name is Ricky.  In the movie there is a scene in which he is explaining how in awe of the world he is . . . a world that is there, but no one seems to see.  He says: “It was one of those days when it’s a minute away from snowing, and there’s this electricity in the air, you can almost hear it. And this bag was just, dancing with me, like a little kid beggin’ me to play with it – for fifteen minutes. And that’s the day I realized that there was this entire life behind things, and this incredibly benevolent force that wanted me to know that there was no reason to be afraid, ever. Video’s a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember – I need to remember. Sometimes, there’s so much beauty in the world – I feel like I can’t take it, like my heart is just going to cave in.” (See it here.)

 

Ricky also says: “It's hard to stay mad when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst. And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life. You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry, you will someday.”

 

I am tired of living in a world filled with anger and fear . . . and so are many others.  The beauty of the world . . . of others . . . of the Holy . . . is all around us, yet invisible because we our blind to our habits and fears.  It is there . . . in plain sight . . . waiting.  Waiting for us burst forth from our chains that bind us to the way that we have always done life . . . to break our habit.  As you Ricky says, “You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry, you will someday.”

 

Someday . . . can’t you feel it?  Can’t you see it?  Someday.

Roots: White Guy Tacos

Oh my!  Who would have thought tacos would stir up the hornet’s nest?

 

Recently the Democratic presidential nominee and her vice-presidential running mate, Kamala Harris and Tim Walz, did just that as they shared a video conversation about several topics . . . including tacos.  As the two are discussing their campaign the conversation shifts to the topic of food.  Walz mentions that his palette leans towards what he refers to as “Midwestern” which include what he calls “white guy taco[s]”.  Of course, Kamala—being black/Asian in descent—asks, “What does that mean?”

 

Walz’ response is: “Pretty much ground meat and cheese.”  That’s it.  No spices, no sauces . . . nothing.  “White guy tacos.”

 

It did not take long for people to jump into the conversation and declare themselves offended.  It was declared to be racist and disgusting.  Curious, Kamala wondered what a “white guy taco” was . . . she queried, “mayonnaise and tuna?”  Ouch!  One person referred to is as a black person stating that they eat “black guy tacos” and being asked what that means . . . “watermelon and fried chicken?”  The argument is plain and simple . . . both statements can be racist.  Subtle, but racist.  I won’t argue that.  I can see it.

 

I must admit that I was caught off guard by the “white guy taco” statement, but not for the reason of racism.  Granted, it is racism even if it is in a subtle “ha ha—wink of the eye” sort of way.  I get that and maybe all the candidates running in the presidential election . . . well, in fact all of us . . . need to watch our language and what we say.  My problem with the quip was that it hit too close to home . . . naw, it stepped on my toes.  Especially when Walz proclaimed that “white guy tacos” were “pretty much ground meat and cheese.” 

 

I grew up on “white guy tacos”.  It was a staple in the household I grew up in.  Apparently, taco seasoning was not pliable to the taste buds of my family.  Tacos were cooked hamburger, thrown into a corn shell, sprinkled in cheese, and warmed in the oven until the cheese melted.  On the table we cut up tomatoes, lettuce, and onions with a bottle of Ortega taco sauce for those who wanted to doctor their tacos.  My choice for the first go-round was always lettuce and tomatoes . . . second round were just plain old—what I now know as “white guy tacos—tacos. 

 

Early in our marriage the wife and I hit the taco bump in the road.  She grew up with taco seasoning in the meat.  I did not.  She could not understand where I was coming from.  I could not understand where she was coming from.  She was ready to rid the menu of tacos for forever.  I convinced her to try it the way I was used to and to buy whatever sauces or seasonings she wanted to add once they were served up in the plain old simple way.  I suppose it is one of the few arguments I have ever won in our marriage because today we still eat “white guy tacos”.  It is a family tradition.  A little over a week ago we had “white guy tacos” . . . it was delicious to my bland taste buds.

 

As I heard the statement made the realization . . . the epiphany revealed . . . was that I am a fairly vanilla, bland sort of guy when it comes to my culinary leanings.  I am not big on spicy food, especially “hot” food.  I am boring when it comes to my tastes . . . plain and simple . . . salt, occasionally pepper (mostly in tomato soup).  I will use Allspice when grilling meat, but we all know that is 90% salt!  On the other hand, my wife is all out for flavor.  When I grill for her the sky is the limit when it comes to her taste buds.  That is why we usually do what she calls a “mixed grill” when preparing meals.  She gets her flavor, and I get my basic, run-of-mill, boring taste.  We are both happy.  

 

That was the revelation . . . I am just a plain old, blend in with the scenery, sort of person.  I am so bland and boring that I am like Waldo . . . find me if you can!  My culinary tastes are plain.  The way I dress is plain . . . no fashion statements from me.  My hobbies and interests are run-of-the-mill . . . reading, photography, and bird watching.  Those are going to get me on the front page of the newspaper—NOT!  There is not much about me that is flashy.  I am just “ground meat and cheese”.

 

The ”taco controversy” just served as a reminder . . .  I am ordinary . . . I am plain . . . I am white bread . . . and—in a non-racist way, I am a white guy.  Admittedly I struggle with that.  Don’t we all struggle with the truth of who we are and who we think we are?  This whole ordeal blew my self-aggrandizement right out of the water.  Most of the time, when people aren’t throwing around these sorts of challenges to my self-image, I see myself as suave and debonair . . . often jokingly referring to myself as Brad Pitt doppelganger.  This is easily accomplished when one never looks in the mirror or allows pictures to be taken.

 

Now the joke is on me . . . I am ordinary.

 

In all honesty, that is okay.  The truth is that I am not that vain.  I know the reality . . . I am just an old plain guy with plain tastes . . . and a plain life.  I am run-of-the-mill.  I like “white guy tacos” . . . and I am still here.  Still playing the game.  Still trekking down the pathway of life.  Still loved by those in my life even though I am bland.  I can handle it . . . it is my “roots” and it is good to be reminded once in awhile . . . even if the reminder comes in the form of a taco.