Haile

Haile Selassi* is a curious sort of saint, god, reincarnation of Jesus. As least among Rasta. But I want to pointedly put forward a saint of darker skin. Whatever he was, how he was seen is the important bit.

I've been thinking a lot about being white. Not any way I've ever identified myself. Although clearly, my pale skin is how I'm identified. But I'm also shanty Irish. My father was dubbed "Frenchy" among his factory co-workers. My cousin assures me that we have at least one, recent, Iroquois ancestor. Likely more, the French who settled there, routinely took native 'wives.' I never felt one of the privileged, nor any claim to that. Really don't understand where that attitude comes from.

I actually resent being lumped in with those who think light skin is special, entitled. I want to make a point of being among the hated groups. I don't want to have to be brave or self-sacrificing, but I want to be prepared to do so.

Once, long ago in another life, I did not fight back, but whimpered and begged, afraid of being hit again. That moment is seared into my mind, when I was not brave nor bold. Perhaps it was the right decision at the time, for myself.

If ever asked to decide between my own safety and someone else's, I hope I will act to protect. I hope we all will.

Friends in town for a conference came by for breakfast this morning. My idea, to cook bacon and eggs, muffins, tea and fruit, here at home. Lovely to talk with people. Eleanor visiting everyone. Nice people, very old friends, so welcome.

Went to see a college student production matinee of Arcadia, Tom Stoppard. More than a bit uneven, but some of the actors were quite good.

“We shed as we pick up, like travellers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind. The procession is very long and life is very short. We die on the march. But there is nothing outside the march so nothing can be lost to it. The missing plays of Sophocles will turn up piece by piece, or be written again in another language. Ancient cures for diseases will reveal themselves once more. Mathematical discoveries glimpsed and lost to view will have their time again. You do not suppose, my lady, that if all of Archimedes had been hiding in the great library of Alexandria, we would be at a loss for a corkscrew?”
― Tom Stoppard, Arcadia

*Haven't read this entirely, I'll get to it sometime soon.