Tag Archives: Women’s Rights

I Am Afraid

Posted on by
5

We can be fearless in proclaiming that we are afraid—afraid of what is happening, afraid of what might come, afraid of becoming numb to it all.

It could be any morning up here on the mountain. Any season. The light spills over the valley like it’s been rehearsing for centuries, finding its way to the deck that I sanded and painted myself. Ruby’s already made her first round of the yard, nose to the wind, tail announcing that all is well in our little dominion—hers and mine and Gary’s.

From the outside, it might look like the middle of nowhere. But to us, it’s home. It’s our mountaintop oasis. It speaks peace. It speaks love. It knows both.

And yet—I am afraid.

I’m not afraid of dying.

I’m not afraid of the questions at my annual doctor’s visit—how’s the sleep, how’s the balance, any falls lately? I know the drill, know the tone. It’s the small talk we make with time itself.

I am afraid of more than that. Much more.

I am afraid of living.

I am afraid when I watch our nation take one step, then another, back and back and back toward what too many call the “Good Ole Days.” Days that weren’t always that good in reality—at least not for everyone. I’ve seen real progress during my seventy-seven years, hard-won and deeply felt. But now I know what it feels like to watch it slip away.

I am afraid when I see the National Guard deployed to American cities—unbidden, uninvited—storming in under the cloak of “security,” while local leaders protest and courts rule against the deployment as unconstitutional.

I am afraid when I see streams of homeless men, women, and children forcibly cleared from our Nation’s capital—not relocated, but shamed off the sidewalks, invisible again to the people who run the city.

I am afraid when masked men wearing ICE uniforms sweep through neighborhoods in unmarked vans—when people are grabbed at early hours, dragged from their routines, as children watch from windows.

I am afraid when I see our public health agencies bend—when the CDC overturns or ignores scientific consensus, issuing guidelines that feel political more than medical, eroding trust in what should be shields, not targets.

I am afraid when I see older Americans treated as burdens instead of blessings—when Social Security and food programs are cut under the banner of “efficiency,” when Medicare oversight is weakened and the sickest lose coverage, when senior housing programs vanish from federal budgets as if aging were a mistake. When growing old becomes a liability instead of an honor, a nation has lost its sense of inheritance.

I am afraid when I see poor and working families once again blamed for their poverty—when SNAP and WIC are gutted, when rent assistance dries up, when wages shrink while profits soar. Poverty is being rebranded as personal failure again, as though the system itself weren’t tilting the table.

I am afraid when I see classrooms and libraries turned into battlegrounds—when teachers are monitored, words are banned, and curiosity is treated as defiance. When education becomes indoctrination, the light that should guide us turns inward and burns.

I am afraid when I see our museums stripped of independence—when curators are told which histories to showcase and which to hide, when funding depends on keeping donors and politicians comfortable instead of keeping the record honest. When museums are told what stories to tell, history itself becomes propaganda.

I am afraid when I see the earth itself crying out—when wildfires, floods, and droughts speak the truth our leaders refuse to hear. When those in power in Washington call climate change a hoax, mock science, and dismantle what fragile protections remain—treating the planet not as inheritance but as inventory. The soil, the rivers, the air—they are not ours to own. They are the breath of every living thing that will come after us.

I am afraid when I see our history books rewritten—when the ugliness of our past is softened or omitted altogether, as if truth were a stain to be scrubbed away. I am afraid when textbooks trade context for comfort, when children are taught pride without responsibility. That’s not education. That’s amnesia dressed as virtue.

I am afraid when I see books banned from shelves—works of art, witness, and imagination stripped from students’ hands because someone decided fear should be the curriculum. A nation that fears its own words is a nation already forgetting how to think.

I am afraid when I see faith itself being rewritten—when those who hold the Bible high forget the heart of its message: love thy neighbor as thyself. When “the least of these” are ignored or condemned, when compassion is replaced with control, when the name of Christ is used not to comfort but to conquer.

I am afraid when I see the Department of Defense renamed the War Department—as if we’ve abandoned even the language of restraint, as if the goal were not defense but dominance. Words matter. Change the name, and you change the story. Change the story, and you change what we become.

I’ve lived long enough to see this nation inch closer to its promise, step by hard-won step. I watched the Civil Rights Movement force open doors that had been locked for centuries. I watched women claim the rights and respect they were long denied. I watched same-sex marriage move from silence to law, from whispers to weddings. I watched a Black man take the oath of office as President of the United States and felt, for the first time in my life, that maybe—just maybe—we were learning what equality really means.

And yet, I’m watching so much of that progress being undone in plain sight—rolled back by men who smile as they sign the papers. That’s what eats at me. We came so far. We proved we could change. And now I fear we’re proving how quickly we can forget.

I have one more fear—one that hits closer to home for me than any of the others, and yet it reaches out and encompasses them all.

I am afraid when I see LGBTQ freedoms stripped away in bill after state bill—protections withdrawn, rights revoked, marriages questioned, school policies reversed—while the rhetoric whispers “return to order,” but the victims are many.

It hits me hard, like a gut punch, because I know what it feels like to live quietly on the margins of acceptance. I had a place at the table—as long as I behaved. As long as I laughed at the right jokes. As long as I didn’t speak the truth of who I was. I was welcome, yes—but only in disguise. That was the unspoken bargain: conformity in exchange for belonging. A seat, but not a voice. Presence without personhood.

It took me years to understand that silence isn’t peace—it’s erasure wrapped in politeness. And acceptance that depends on pretending is not acceptance at all. So when I see hard-won freedoms for LGBTQ people being stripped away, I don’t see politics. I see people—people like me—being pushed back into the shadows we worked so long to escape.

I am afraid, too, of the silence that wears love’s disguise. Of families who say they accept us—so long as it’s private. Who love their gay brother or their trans child quietly, behind closed doors, but never speak that love out loud. Because public love takes courage, and private love costs nothing.

I am afraid that if the reckoning comes—and it may—some of us will look around and find that the people who said they loved us privately will deny us publicly.

And I am afraid that the ground is shifting for all of us—that what’s being erased is not just rights, but recognition of value.

I am afraid that we are being bombarded deliberately with so much chaos and confusion that we are forgetting what lies at the core of who we are—as Americans, yes, but more deeply, as human beings: the value of the individual.

The gay and the straight.
The trans and the cis.
The believer and the atheist.
The refugee and the citizen.
The imprisoned and the free.
The Black and the white.
The immigrant and the native-born.
The woman and the man.
The poor and the privileged.
The child and the elder.
The body that moves easily, and the one that cannot.
The mind that remembers, and the mind that forgets.
The one who speaks, and the one who has no voice.
The one who is seen, and the one who is invisible.

Each carries the same sacred value.
Each bears the image of us all.
Leave one behind, and the whole is diminished.
Forget one, and the soul of the people forgets itself.

I am afraid that this forgetting has already begun. It’s not just in Washington, though Washington leads the charge. It seeps into pulpits, classrooms, living rooms—into the quiet corners of our own decency. It’s in the news we scroll past, the cruelty we explain away, the silence we call “staying out of it.”

I am afraid because I see what happens when the faceless stay faceless—when the homeless become numbers, when the refugee becomes a threat, when the trans child becomes a talking point. I am afraid because I know what happens when we stop seeing each other as sacred.

And I am afraid because I’m not sure what I can do.

But I know I have to do something. We all do.

We can vote. We can write. We can reach out to those in power and to those who believe they hold it. But maybe more than any of those things, we can be fearless in proclaiming that we are afraid—afraid of what is happening, afraid of what might come, afraid of becoming numb to it all.

We can name it.
We can put a face to it.
We can be the moral engine of one—
each of us reaching further than comfort,
further than tribe or label—
to hold on to what makes us human,
to reclaim it before it slips away.

One human being girding up another.
One hand extended.
One voice saying, I see you.
That’s where resistance begins.

We can show, by the way we live, that each person matters—every single one. The forgotten, the dismissed, the weary, the silenced. Because the measure of a democracy—like the measure of a soul—is not how it treats the powerful, but how it protects the powerless.

So yes, I am afraid.
But fear, spoken aloud, can become light.
And light, once shared, can become strength.

Maybe that’s where our healing begins:
in the courage to care out loud,
to stand with the one beside us and say,
You are not forgotten.

Because the next person erased could be someone we love.
Or it could be us. You. Me.
But if we stand together—if we keep standing—
it will not be all of us.

⸻ ✦ ⸻ ⸻ ✦ ⸻ ⸻ ✦ ⸻

If this essay speaks to your heart, please like it. Please share it.
Let it travel further than fear—and bring us closer to hope.

Go On. Do It. Back Yourself into a Corner.

Posted on by
4

“The unexamined life is not worth living.“

—Socrates (470-399 BCE; classical Greek philosopher best known for his Socratic method, which aims to elicit truth by asking questions and engaging in dialogue.)

One of my favorite short stories is Mark Twain’s “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County” (1865). No doubt you’ve read it, too, and will recall how old garrulous Simon Wheeler traps the narrator with a long-winded tale about a man named Jim Smiley and his famous jumping frog. Wheeler’s rambling accounts of Jim Smiley’s exploits appeal to me, especially as they become increasingly elaborate and exaggerated. Smiley and Wheeler are portrayed as eccentric characters with idiosyncratic behaviors and quirks. Who can forget Smiley’s obsession with betting on animals or Wheeler’s folksy storytelling. The premise of the entire story—a man who trains a frog to jump competitively and then loses a bet because the frog has been tampered with—is inherently absurd, adding to the comedic tone.

More than any of those dimensions, however, I like the story’s situational humor. The narrator is “backed into a corner” by Simon Wheeler and unable to escape until the end of his monotonous monologue. If you look at the story closely, you will discover that everything from the fourth paragraph all the way up to and including the next to the last paragraph is enclosed in quotation marks. This setup creates a sense of trapped amusement. The narrator is helpless in the face of Wheeler’s relentless storytelling and remember, as well, that Wheeler physically corners the narrator with his chair, thereby adding a visual element to the absurd humor.

The juxtaposition of the narrator’s predicament and Wheeler’s obliviousness to his captive audience adds a richness to the subtle humor. Here’s why. Even if readers are not consciously aware of that aspect of the story–that the narrator is literally backed into a corner–it seems to me that they pick up on it intuitively because we can all relate to feeling trapped in real-life situations where we are unable to escape.

Twain succeeded in tapping into a universal experience that readers understand. It’s a perfect “been there, done that” moment.

No doubt, you’ve been there, done that, too. Remember that party where you found yourself cornered by the resident “over-sharer”? They regale you with the intricate details of their recent colonoscopy, leaving you desperately searching for an escape route while nodding along, trapped in a vortex of TMI. Hopefully, over time, you came to terms with your boundaries, and you’re comfortable with giving an assertive but diplomatic response:

“I appreciate your openness, but I have to admit, discussing medical procedures makes me a bit squeamish. Let’s shift the conversation to something more lighthearted.”

Such a response communicates your discomfort with the topic, sets a clear boundary in a respectful manner, redirects the conversation without dismissing the other person, and maintains a friendly and polite tone.

Or maybe your friends dragged you off to a karaoke bar, and despite your protests that you couldn’t carry a tune to save your life, they insisted that you join in. As you droned an off-key rendition of “Every Breath You Take,” you felt like a reluctant participant in a musical hostage situation.

Getting backed into a corner by peers happens over and over again until we take time to reflect on our personal boundaries with a determination to be more assertive. When we gain insights into those areas, we know our limits, we know how to stand firm, and we know how to say “no.”

Or maybe you got backed into a corner at a family gathering where you’re bombarded with questions about your career, relationship status, and future plans. Despite your discomfort, you navigated the awkward interrogations with forced smiles and vague answers, feeling trapped in a whirlwind of familial expectations and scrutiny.

How can you avoid feeling trapped in future family gatherings? Consider your comfort level with discussing personal topics. Set your own boundaries. Once again, by gaining insights into those areas, you can navigate future events with greater ease and respond to questions assertively and confidently.

Hopefully, you’re getting my point. We’re all backed into corners by family and friends in social situations where we never expected to be in the corner, feeling so uncomfortable.

But if we seize those encounters as opportunities to examine why we felt uncomfortable, to clarify in our own minds our beliefs, to understand the nature of our boundaries, and to resolve to assert ourselves, we can navigate future social situations like that with far greater confidence, simply because we took the time to examine ourselves.

I am reminded of something that acclaimed writer Mary E. Wilkins Freeman once said:

Sometimes I believe that the greatest thing a man’s friends can do for him is to drive him in a corner with God.

Whoever, whatever, whenever, wherever or even if God is, we all know exactly what Freeman has in mind. It’s that final moment of reckoning when we are accountable unto ourselves.

But here’s the thing. Why wait for friends? More likely than not, our friends are too polite. More likely than not, our friends are too nonconfrontational. More likely than not, our friends are too diplomatic. Let’s not wait, then, for our friends to drive us in a corner. Let’s not expect God to be in the corner waiting for us, either. Let’s just go on and do it. Let’s just go ahead and back ourselves into our own uncomfortable corners so that once and for all, we have to address major issues that we can’t escape. Let’s not avoid them. Let’s not pay lip service to them. Let’s not talk out of both sides of our mouths about them. Let’s simply back ourselves into our respective corners, examine the issues, and discover where we stand.

God knows that I’ve lived long enough to back myself into lots of corners. For some, I’ve been in them so often and so long that they’re rounded. For others, I’ve just gotten in them, and I’m discovering their recency, their rawness, and their sharpness. Let me share some of my corners. As you read about mine, be mindful that I am not trying to convince you to share my beliefs. You’ve got your own beliefs and your own corners–soft or hard. At the same time, I am encouraging you to back yourself into your own corners and to examine your issues and concerns in private before the world forces you to examine them in public.

One of my corners deals with Racism and Discrimination. Growing up in West Virginia coal camps alongside African Americans, Whites, Greeks Hispanics, Jews, Italians, and Hungarians, I witnessed the power of unity and mutual respect. Our dads worked together in the mines; our moms cooked together in the kitchens; and we kids played together in the yards. We recognized each other’s humanity and worth. Today, I cringe when I witness racism and discrimination that cast a dark shadow over all of us. I am pained as I examine the harsh reality of ongoing injustices and the destructive impact of discrimination. Yet, I remain steadfast in my belief in the interconnectedness of humanity and our entitlement to equal rights. Simply acknowledging the problem isn’t sufficient; we must actively advocate for change and dismantle oppressive structures. By standing in solidarity with marginalized communities and confronting racism abd discrimination head-on, we can move towards a more just and cohesive society. Every individual, regardless of race or background, deserves to be valued and respected. It’s time to build a future where equality and inclusion are the cornerstones of our society.

The Russia-Ukraine War and the Israel-Gaza Crisis leave me speechless in disbelief as I examine the issues in my corner. How can this be happening in our world today? The unprovoked invasion by Russia into Ukraine and the attacks from Gaza into Israel are stark reminders of the fragility of peace and stability in our world. In these tumultuous times, I firmly believe that the United States and other nations must stand together on the side of justice and righteousness. We cannot turn a blind eye to aggression and violence. It’s imperative for the international community to rally behind efforts for peace, diplomacy, and the protection of innocent lives. We must advocate for dialogue, de-escalation, and respect for international law to ensure a safer and more just world for all.

Another corner that I’m examining is Artificial Intelligence (AI). As a staunch AI supporter, I’m deeply concerned by the lack of awareness surrounding its potential and our collective responsibility in shaping its trajectory for the greater good of mankind. AI has the power to revolutionize countless aspects of our lives, from healthcare to transportation, education to entertainment. However, without careful consideration and ethical oversight, there’s a risk of unintended consequences and misuse. We must advocate for transparency, accountability, and inclusivity in the development and deployment of AI technologies. By promoting education and fostering informed dialogue, we can ensure that AI is harnessed responsibly to benefit humanity as a whole, rather than serving narrow interests or exacerbating existing inequalities. Let’s work together to shape a future where AI serves as a force for progress and empowerment, guided by principles of ethics, empathy, and equity.

You’ll find me in a corner, too, with Global Warming. It terrifies me. Its effects are undeniable. Extreme weather and melting ice caps make it clear. Our planet is in crisis. I’m so alarmed that I even contemplate solutions like space colonization. But while this idea may gain traction, it shouldn’t be our first resort. Instead, urgent action is needed. Transitioning to renewables and reducing emissions are crucial steps. The time for change is now. We must prioritize Earth’s preservation, ensuring space colonization remains a last resort.

My next corner is a hard one because discussing politics has never been my cup of tea. But with a Presidential Election ahead of us–presumably between President Biden and Donald Trump–I feel compelled to examine where I stand. Key issues like the economy, world trade, green investments, race, and criminal justice weigh heavily on my mind. In those areas–and others–President Biden earns my support with his comprehensive plans and commitment to progress. However, there’s one more crucial factor that will sway my vote: morality and decency. In this election, every vote cast will shape the narrative of a major morality play. The character and integrity of our leaders matter deeply. It’s about more than policies; it’s about the soul of our nation. I believe President Biden embodies the values of empathy, integrity, and decency that are essential for effective leadership. While I may not agree with every decision or policy, I trust that President Biden will lead with compassion and integrity, prioritizing the well-being of all Americans. At the end of the day, my vote for him may just tip the scales towards a more just and compassionate future.

Economic Inequality hits home for me, too. As the son of a West Virginia coal miner whose family often lived from paycheck to paycheck, I know firsthand all about economic inequality. Despite some progress, I still see in my own community the struggle of living on an inadequate minimum wage. It’s frustrating to witness marginalized groups face barriers to advancement, especially when it comes to leadership roles and fair pay. Addressing these issues demands systemic change in workplaces. Additionally, the current minimum wage barely covers basic needs, widening the wealth gap. I firmly believe in raising the minimum wage, implementing fair tax policies, and investing in education as crucial steps. We must break barriers so that everyone can have a shot at a better future.

What can I say about my LGBTQ+ corner? I’m intimately familiar with the journey of self-discovery, self-examination, and the courage it takes to live authentically. Growing up, I carried the weight of my identity, aware of my differences before I even started school. All along my journey, I assumed that everyone knew that I was gay. However, it wasn’t until I reached the age of 50 and found my soulmate that I felt emboldened to “come out.” I had Allen’s support. I had Emerson’s backing, expressed so eloquently in his “Self-Reliance.” My colleagues, my students, and my friends made me know the warmth and authenticity of their embraces, yet I encountered unexpected pushback, rebuke, and rejection from some members of my own family. My personal journey underscores the importance of advocating for LGBTQ+ rights. While we’ve made significant progress, regressive actions both domestically and internationally threaten the rights and protections we’ve fought for. Discriminatory laws persist, jeopardizing the hard-won gains of the LGBTQ+ community. From rollbacks on protections for transgender individuals to the criminalization of same-sex relationships, the fight for equality continues. Despite the challenges we face, I remain steadfast in my belief in our right to live authentically, free from discrimination. We must persevere in our advocacy efforts, challenging discriminatory practices and demanding equality for all LGBTQ+ individuals. Together, we can work towards a future where LGBTQ+ individuals are fully recognized, respected, and afforded the same rights as everyone else.

In addition to these societal challenges, what about Women’s Rights? The persisting inequities within homes and workplaces, coupled with debates on reproductive autonomy, require examination, too. The burden of domestic responsibilities disproportionately falls on women, intertwining with workplace disparities like the unyielding gender pay gap. Conversations surrounding women’s reproductive rights, notably access to abortions, remain a contentious battleground. Addressing these issues isn’t merely a call for justice; it’s an urgent plea for societal transformation. Let us back ourselves into the corners of these crucial discussions, questioning norms, challenging biases, and advocating for a world where women stand on equal ground in every facet of life.

I’ve saved my overarching corner for last. Am I my brother’s keeper? Absolutely. Yes. It doesn’t matter whether you’re gay or straight; poor or wealthy; Democrat or Republication; believer in climate change or not; for or against AI; Russian or Ukrainian; Jew or Palestinian; African American, White, Greek Hispanic, Italian, Hungarian, or any other cultural group. My conviction runs deep and is rooted in my belief that we are all interconnected, all part of the same human family. My brother isn’t just a blood relative; they’re every person I encounter, every life I touch. Witnessing and examining the struggles and injustices faced by one or faced by all fuels my passion for advocacy and compassion. It’s not enough to stand idly by; I am compelled to act, to uplift, and to support those in need. Whether through lending a helping hand, speaking out against injustice, or simply offering a listening ear, I embrace my role as my brother’s keeper. Together, we can build a world where empathy and solidarity reign, where every individual is valued and empowered to thrive.

Obviously, numerous other issues weigh heavily on my spirit, too. Environmental Sustainability. Healthcare Access. Education Equity. Immigration Reform. Their significance is not lost on me. Often, I’m in my corner examining them, too.

I know all too well that life’s demands and distractions can easily cause us to sidestep uncomfortable truths and to skirt prickly issues that challenge our beliefs and convictions. However, I maintain that one of the most enlightening experiences we can gift ourselves is to willingly back ourselves into a corner, metaphorically speaking, where we are compelled to confront and examine the depths of our convictions and the authenticity of our beliefs. By immersing ourselves in situations that demand introspection and self-examination, we open the door to profound personal growth and a deeper understanding of ourselves and the world around us.

I didn’t intend for today’s post to end up being a call to action. Yet, it is. I’m asking that we examine our core beliefs about the issues that matter most to us. We don’t have to march out onto the world’s stage and be advocates if we’re uncomfortable being front and center, wearing the shield of our beliefs. However, when the world comes to us–as it most assuredly will, at parties, at family gatherings, among peers, or even at work–I hope that we are bold enough not only to share our beliefs but also to stand by them.

Today, I challenge you to examine your life and to examine the issues that surround not only you but also the rest of the world. Go on. Do it. Back yourself into a corner.