Alexandra Fuller and white supremacy

I have written about Alexandra Fuller before, once after reading Cocktail Hour Under the Tree of Forgetfulness, and again after reading and loving Leaving Before the Rains Come (although I cannot find mention of that). Alas. If I didn't, I should have.

Do you know her work? She is a gifted memoirist who has written several terrifically-titled books about growing up in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), the daughter of somewhat dysfunctional, probably alcoholic white Brits who decamped to central Africa and lived and farmed there for most of their lives. During Fuller's childhood, there were just 100,000 whites in Rhodesia and 6 million blacks. Her parents fought for white rule. At age 6, Fuller was taught to use an Uzi and the difference between firing to kill and firing to maim. An effigy of a black Rhodesian was her target.

I have been wholly engaged by all of her work (the first I read was Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight, then Cocktail Hour... and most recently, Leaving Before the Rains Come). Not only is memoir one of my favorite genres, but I am drawn like a moth to the brightest light to people who cast an unsparingly honest eye on themselves and then share their truths and lessons learned so that others might better see and understand themselves, might be moved toward such honest reflection, and then might grow and change and share accordingly. Fuller offers us chances like these.

And so last week, just before we headed out of town, when I saw that she would be discussing her new book, Quiet Until the Thaw, at Politics and Prose (my favorite bookstore in DC) on July 5, I marked the date and highlighted it on my calendar. I knew I'd be pooped from travel, knew I'd be tired from the 4th and Jack's birthday, knew we had a full day prior to Fuller's 7pm event. But I also knew I couldn't miss it.

And I didn't. Tom got home at 6, and I hauled it out of the house to get to P&P and secure myself a seat. Front row, y'all! #alwaysastudent

This is not an important observation, but Alexandra is stunningly, naturally beautiful. She glows, radiant with health and wisdom. Which can be disarming.

And then she starts talking, that gorgeous sort-of-British, sort-of-African lilt rolling from her tongue like sensuous waves. If you aren't listening, you might be lulled. If you are, you immediately sit at attention, for Alexandra Fuller is pissed. 

She began with a poem by Freedom Nyamubaya, a woman, a farmer, a poet, an activist, a high-ranking general in the Zimbabwe National Liberation Army. She died in 2015 at the age of 55, but before, she penned A Mysterious Marriage, a tale of Freedom and Independence.

And then she read from Dr. Yolanda Pierce's stunning A Litany For Those Who Aren't Ready For Healing.

Let us not offer false equivalencies, thereby diminishing the particular pain being felt in a particular circumstance in a particular historical moment.
Let us not speak of reconciliation without speaking of reparations and restoration, or how we can repair the breach and how we can restore the loss.
Let us not rush past the loss of this mother's child, this father's child...someone's beloved son.
Let us not value property over people; let us not protect material objects while human lives hang in the balance.
Let us not value a false peace over a righteous justice.
Let us not be afraid to sit with the ugliness, the messiness, and the pain that is life in community together.
Let us not offer clichés to the grieving, those whose hearts are being torn asunder.

You really should read the whole thing. Please do.

Fuller noted that she has spoken at Politics & Prose upon release of each of her books. "I've been here through four presidents, and whatever this is," she said, acknowledging the present. And, "I grew up under four dictators, two on the left, two on the right, and this is that."

We are in trouble, y'all. America is at a crossroads. The KKK has planned a march on Charlottesville, VA, this Saturday and have announced their intent to be fully armed. Purportedly, liberals are attempting to "erase the white culture right out of the history books.” and they need to stand up against this travesty.

People, please. This country was founded by stealing, violently, others' land. Do you know that of the more than 370 treaties and deals and agreements the US has made with its native peoples, it has altered, ignored, and/or reneged on ALL of them? Canada and Australia, among others, have treated (and continue to treat) their indigenous people with equivalent ugliness.

This country was built on the backs of kidnapped people, men, women, and children forcibly taken from their homes and treated as inhuman property whose sole use in this world was to work and be abused for free. When finally we "freed" them, we paid reparations only to their white owners. 

Zimbabwe, once Rhodesia, emerged from the same crucible. White settlers took land, averred it was rightfully theirs because of black inferiority and all, and then fought to the death to keep it when resistance reared its head. 

So many of the dominant narratives around the world reflect this brutal relationship of whites to blacks, light skin to dark skin. And yet we do not listen. We didn't then, we don't now. As Alexandra noted, "There is no such thing as the voiceless, just the preferably unheard."

She tells of growing up the daughter of undeniably dynamic, hardworking people she loved (and loves) dearly. But as she sees now, they are also people who believed in white superiority and worked to maintain its hold on the country they made home. 

Many Americans find themselves part of the same familial tradition. Each of us can accept that and attempt to disable our own role in the perpetuation of a racist society or we can continue to ignore and enable it. Where did the birtherism movement come from if not from whites attempting to discredit America's first black president thus invalidating his success and maintaining a hold on their own power? Where does our racist criminal justice system emerge and grow from if not an attempt to keep the black man down? Where did redlining come from if not an attempt to keep blacks out of "white" neighborhoods? (It should be noted that Donald Trump and his father were both sued for discriminatory rental practices and proved to have racially profiled and refused black applicants.) What is the gargantuan wealth disparity in our country but a systemic effort to privilege a few at the expense of many?

As Fuller read and Huxley said, "Liberties can never be given, they can only be taken away." Further, Alexandra observed from years of personal experience that a sizable "wealth disparity in any country is an arrangement between the government and the military." The socioeconomic gaps in America aren't getting smaller. I'm just saying.

Ultimately, she did talk about Quiet Until the Thaw, a novelistic effort to further deconstruct the primary narrative surrounding white and native Americans. At this point, "I would prefer my audiences sweating bullets...This is no time to be complacent. Never mistake your comfort for your security...Read, write, think, question."

I bought the new book and she signed it (as well as the copy of Leaving Before the Rains Come that I'd brought), and I had the chance to thank her for being an important presence in my life. To thank her for writing books I needed to read. "Well, I needed to write them." she replied with a smile.

I smiled in return before leaving, too late to avoid the precipitation blanketing DC that night. As I walked to my car, rain drops spattering my face and dress, I gave thanks for meeting Alexandra briefly, for living in a place that enables easy access to fascinating people who broaden and inspire my world, for my parents who taught my sister and me that the world is big and we are but bits in it, for my husband who got home on time so I could go do something exciting. I gave thanks to all of those working so hard to resist the craven, ignorant, cruel wannabe who is leading this country nowhere good, and I renewed my commitment to asking the hard questions, answering them honestly, and doing the work that needs to be done. 

Splendor of Florence

During Christmas last year, as my sister, brother-in-law, and I were catching up, they told me about a good friend, Joyce, an American in Florence whose morning walks through local gardens had inspired a small line of artisanal soaps and candles. Joyce was taken with a certain fragrance, a heady amalgam of scents that to her encapsulated Florence and all its splendor.

Since modelling in Italy (Milan) in the 70s, Joyce has spent at least a quarter of each year in Florence (and her ancestors are Florentine). For several years in the late 90s and early aughts, she created and then directed a series of cultural events that brought the best of Florentine craftsman community to the US.

Two years ago, she decided to take the next step in this artistic, cultural venture by creating a line of luxury home items, Splendor of Florence, all of which both utilize and celebrate many of the traditions of highly-skilled craftsmanship Italy is known for: soap; design; paper; and fragrance, to name some. And she wanted everything to be 100% made in Florence, start to finish.

Michele, my brother-in-law, wondered if I'd want to try a few Splendor of Florence items. Um, yes. 

"But," I warned, "I'm really sensitive to scents, so I doubt I'll like the candle. And I rarely like bergamot. Is bergamot in there?" 

"Yes, but just try them," he said. "Joyce worked for years to create the fragrance and bring her ideas of pure, local, handcrafted products to life. They are really beautiful items."

Shortly after, a generously sized box wafted alluringly onto my front porch. Inside were nestled bars of soap and candles, exquisitely wrapped (the Italians really know how to wrap things; go look at individual lemons in their grocery stores! Each is a treasure.) in thick paper and boxes whose surfaces are printed with designs inspired by the tiles and mosaics found on many a Florentine church and palace. The proprietary fragrance is called Passegiata which means a walk or a stroll, drawing on all the dreamy meanderings Joyce has enjoyed in Florence's lush gardens over the years.

Splendor of Florence Passegiata soaps and candles

Splendor of Florence Passegiata soaps and candles

Despite my concern about lurking bergamot, Passegiata is an endlessly pleasing, unique, relatively subtle scent. A blend of orange blossoms, lime, bergamot, rose and cyprus -plants you'd find and experience in Florentine Renaissance gardens- the fragrance smells real, honest, not remotely cloying or chemically. Think real sugar versus saccharin- the difference is enormous.

Splendor of Florence Passegiata soaps

Splendor of Florence Passegiata soaps

The soap is triple milled, solvent free, and contains olive and apricot kernel oils, which make for a very creamy and moisturizing bar for body and face, in addition to the highest quality essential oils. Each one lasts for ages, doesn't crack, and holds its scent. My shower always smells so lovely.

The candles, soy-based, are almost too lovely to burn, and the diffuser is alcohol-free which means they aren't flammable and they last much longer than most diffusers whose high alcohol content makes them evaporate rapidly. Isn't the packaging and design chic but also accessible?

As y'all know, I am deeply committed to supporting best-quality, location-based craftsmanship that values both product and producers. And I love what Joyce has done with Splendor of Florence and all the men and women she has empowered and honored by seeking out their guidance, skill, and expertise. She has truly paid homage to Florence in so many beautiful ways.

You can read more about Joyce and the artisans with whom she works here. And unless you live near any of the ten U.S. stores selling Passegiata goodies, you can order everything here. I hope you do!

U2: I'm still on cloud 9

Late last week while we were in NC, Tom was gifted two tickets to a U2 concert. Did I want to go?

Um, yes. Seeing U2 live has been on my bucket list for years, but as I am so out of the music loop, I have never managed to get tickets in time. The show was last night, the DC stop on the band's The Joshua Tree 2017 tour. This year marks the 30th anniversary of release of The Joshua Tree, and at each concert U2 is playing every song from that remarkable album. 

It takes us two hours to drive the 18 miles to FedEx Field, and with every minute, my anticipatory glee grows. I fly out of the car as soon as Tom parks and haul ass to our seats which happen to be IN A BOX (OMG!) with food and drink and a bathroom! 

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As the sun sets over The Lumineers' brief opening act, as I take in the tens of thousands of joyous concertgoers, as I let all the shitty stress of the ugly news recede into the recesses of my psyche, even as I remember that I desperately want a t-shirt and so hurry back to the merchandise area where I join forces with a friendly stranger so that we have the power of two women who WILL GET SHIRTS (and we do), I feel the most unadulterated youthful joy I have felt in some time.

U2 opens with Sunday Bloody Sunday, from War (1983), which brings me to my feet. For the most part, I don't sit again until we get in the car to drive home. 

I can't believe the news today
I can't close my eyes and make it go away.
How long, how long must we sing this song?
How long, how long?
'Cos tonight
We can be as one, tonight.

Bono says a few songs in, "These songs seem so relevant now, which is a surprise." A sad surprise but such an accurate observation. 

The trenches dug within our hearts...And it's true we are immune, when fact is fiction and TV reality.

They transpose TV and reality and sing, "When fact is fiction and reality TV." My eyes prick with tears. Bono is a political guy and takes some definite swipes at America's ugly political landscape right now and the Right's role in that. But he also casts a truly bipartisan net of hopefulness. "Right, Left, in between. You are all welcome here tonight. We'll find common ground, reaching for higher ground."

fantastic photo taken by akmcquade on instagram

fantastic photo taken by akmcquade on instagram

Four songs in, and the telltale chords of Pride (In the Name of Love), from The Unforgettable Fire (1984) resonate throughout the stadium like a universal heartbeat. 

Early morning, April four
Shot rings out in the Memphis sky.
Free at last, they took your life
They could not take your pride.

And the tears come anew because who can believe that we're there again after all these years? We're circling back in such horrible, frightening ways. Philando Castile's murderer was just acquitted. Pregnant mother of four, Charleena Lyles, recently followed in Castile's tragic footsteps, shot to death by a policeman she'd called for help. It seems a certainty that her death won't be responded to in just fashion either. 

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Fifth song and we reach The Joshua Tree. Bono says, "Some say the dream is dead. The dream of America which is not just a country but an idea too. We must stay awake to dream. Awaken...The United States are kind of everybody's country. That's a blessing and a responsibility."

Where the Streets Have No Name, maybe my favorite U2 song, and the crowd is wild. (See video at the start of this post for the opening chords.) It's followed by I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For and then With or Without You, and oh my god, U2's repertoire is epic. 

It is World Refugee Day, and as Bono is so actively, avidly, deeply involved in so many great causes -anti-poverty, HIV/AIDS prevention and treatment, refugees, women and girl's education and rights- he speaks about the need to do so much more, to be involved. "Luminous ones shine bright and often get the credit, but you don't have to be so luminous to make a difference."

Second song of the six-song encore is Beautiful Day. Photos of enormously impactful women play on the giant screens behind the band. Bono says, "When women of the world unite to rewrite history as her story, that is a beautiful day!" My eyes water again. Without realizing it, I raise a fist into the air.

The night flies by with impossible speed. U2 ends with One and then Vertigo, and I am crushed when the screens go dark.

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This morning, the boys asked how the concert was. "Awesome," T and I said. "Here, I took some videos and pics to show you," I said. 

"Mom, is that you screaming in that video?" Jack asks, with a definite tinge of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. 

"Yes it is, buddy!" 

"Oh, Mooo-ooom." 

But I think he sort of loved it too.