FRESH TAKES ON "ROLLING IN THE DEEP."

I spent the morning at a high school in Hesperia, California, reading and discussing my book, Rolling In The Deep, by Evelyn C. Fortson. Although the book was written for an older audience, the high schoolers could relate to the multigenerational family drama. I think that was in large part because of the well-layered character-driven narrative about love, personhood, resilience, grace, and redemption. We spoke about the generational and racial differences in the places we call home, and how they are addressed in the book. They shared with me who helped shape them into the person they are today, and whether they have told that person how important they are.

In the end, I told them that "Rolling In The Deep" was a love letter to the neighborhood where I grew up and to the people who meant so much to me. I told them that I intentionally put in historical events that documented African Americans’ collective history. The Watts riot, the mention of a Sundown town, the Great Migration, and white flight (along with other events and places) were mentioned to spark the readers' curiosity. They could see the correlation between the Watts Riot, the Rodney King Riot, Black Lives Matter, and the killing of George Floyd.

It was a joy to be around young people who are at the crossroads of their lives. I hope they make the most of this time in their lives. I was impressed by their teacher, Honey Obeng. The concern she showed for her students’ development and for the expression of their ideas will serve them well in their future endeavors. They are lucky to have her!

The time I spent with them was brief, but before I left, I wanted them to ponder the two questions the book asks the readers. What is required of love, and what does love cost?

Love is not only a feeling, but it’s also an action. Love requires work, sacrifice, commitment, compromise, … The cost of love involves an emotional investment, which includes the risk of heartache.

368 DAYS LATER...STILL ALTADENA STRONG!

Writing during this difficult time has been cathartic. It has helped to ground and center me. When I write, I hope to convey a feeling or idea; if I can do that well, it’s very satisfying. Writing for Lotus Rising LA is very important to me because it allows me to document individual and collective struggles and victories. Losing a home to a fire is unimaginable. Home is a place of refuge, peace, family, and pride. Having that taken away in such a sudden and violent manner is so destabilizing that it shakes one's sense of security and agency in one’s own life. Survivors of the fires need significant financial support, but they also need people to hear their stories. The most touching thing that has stayed with me is when Omar and Giselle, my son and daughter-in-love, took clothes and other household items that had been donated to them down to Woodbury Road in Altadena, along with countless others. They had lost everything in the Eaton fires, but the generosity of others so touched them that they were compelled to give as well. Seeing everyone on Woodbury Road loving their neighbors, regardless of race, politics, religion, or sexual orientation, and just helping those who were hurting, was inspiring.

There are times in life when people connect on a basic level, and it always seems to happen when tragedy occurs. In those precious moments in the aftermath of the event, we put down our racial bias, political, and religious differences. We remember that we are human beings who need help, and we give it. That expression of love toward someone who may or may not look like you, or who probably wouldn’t acknowledge you on the street (in normal circumstances), is the most incredible feeling. That feeling strengthened me and helped me to rise each day to face the wreckage the fires left in my life.

One year later, my lot has been partially cleared by the Army Corps of Engineers, but they destroyed half of the paved courtyard. The heavy equipment damaged my paved driveway. Nature is reclaiming the land. Blackened, ghostly remains of burnt-out tree stumps are shooting forth bright green new growths. My lot is a mixture of a decaying disaster and vigorous rebirth. Three hundred sixty-eight days later, my lot has been surveyed, I hired a contractor, and had plans submitted to the county. I have received a Will Serve Letter from the Water Company and paid Southern California Edison to have a temporary utility pole placed on the property. Now I’m waiting for the Contractor to make corrections and for him and Edison to coordinate the delivery and energizing of the utility pole so the County can approve the plans. All of this is going on as I wait to see if Southern California Edison will submit a fair settlement offer that will allow me to rebuild my home.

As always, I take deep breaths, pray, and try to get outdoors. Sometimes just going for a walk helps to brighten up an otherwise depressing day. If you need someone to hear your story, Lotus Rising Community Voices is here to listen. Contact this writer @ 4theloveofbooks61@gmail.com   

Together we will remain Altadena Strong!

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS...

The past few years, amid the Trump administration, have been exhausting. No matter how hard I try not to let the stain of other people’s hatred and bigotry affect me, somehow it always does. Hate erodes it, bringing nothing of value to the equation. Over a lifetime, it will suck the good and decency out of you. I have often wondered how the mother of Rittenhouse could love her child and yet drive him to a Black Lives Matter Protest with a gun in a car and drop him off? How could a parent teach a child to hate?

What I want this Christmas can’t be purchased and wrapped in pretty paper with a festive bow. It can only come from deep within me and an abiding faith that this too shall pass.

I knew that there would be a backlash from having a Black President, but this level of sustained anathema is alarming. This all in hatred of “others” (anyone other than heterosexual white Anglo-Saxon Protestant or white Nationalists) is willing to destroy the very country it purports to love. I used to believe that the youth would save us, that once all the old bigots had died off, then maybe America could begin to move toward a better future. However, this last decade has uncovered racial bias across the board, among the young and old.

Latinos for Trump and Somalis for Trump have found out that America’s Immigration story wasn’t written for them. Usha Vance and Vic Rumba Swami have discovered that they are included in the Black and Brown people categories. Jewish people’s honeymoon period with white Nationalists will end abruptly, probably when they least expect it.

Black Americans who are not immigrants but are descendants of the enslaved are roughly 11% of the United States population, who knew from America’s inception that it was based on a lie. Our ancestors knew that the dream was not meant for them, but they dreamed anyway. It was because of their dreams that this nation thrived and became what it was. And yet African Americans have had the entire United States Government, from the local level to the Federal level, systemically work to continue to enslave them. Sharecropping, poll taxes, literacy tests to vote, Jim Crow laws, Vagrancy Laws/Black Codes, Red-lining, Racially Restrictive Real Estate Covenants, etc…

Immigrants coming to America were told that if they worked hard enough, they could be successful here. I wonder what they were told about the Blacks in America who hadn’t made it. I doubt they were told how oppressed they were and how there was little to no investment in their schools and communities. Nor were they told that historically, every time a Black community appeared to be thriving, their communities were either burned down by a mob, destroyed by urban development, or, more recently, displaced by gentrification. I wondered if they were taught in their citizenship classes about the contributions of the enslaved and Black Americans? Somehow, I think they consciously or subconsciously internalize the American Dream to be the pursuit of riches, status, and something other than themselves.  At least that is what it feels like to me, because how else can you explain the last 10 years? Where people voted to put a felon in the White House instead of a qualified Woman of Color?  

What I want for Christmas this year is for people to stop hating each other. We don’t have to agree or like each other, but hate is too strong an emotion to carry and too ugly an emotion to inflict on someone else. For our own well-being and personal growth, maybe we can stop trying to be right all the time and be more understanding. As Tiny Tim expressed in his crippled, impoverished state (much like our country today), “God bless us, everyone!”