Author: Reemberto@gmail.com

What to make of the Republican Convention

As half of the USA gets ready to relish in what they intend to be the first coronation of an American king-in-the-making, let’s the rest of us reflect, put it in perspective, and explore what we can do.  As their pomp and self-assurance of a landslide victory resonates through their echo chambers, let it spark through the land an outcry of quiet rage not easily measured in polls or pundits. 

Trump’s assassination attempt has unleashed a rash of social media memes invoking religion and faith in a way that is nothing short of perverse – and to some of us repulsive. The outlandish attribution of the near miss to a miracle of the Almighty or the intervention of the Virgin Mary is yet another anointment of Trump as Cyrus, the non-believer Persian King who is seen by Judeo-Christians as a “flawed vessel for good”. This comparison conveniently explains away all of Trump’s evidently sinful behavior, and now can even position him as a converted Savior, not unlike Alexander the Great. It is interesting to note that some saw this coming as far back as 2018:

https://www.vox.com/identities/2018/3/5/16796892/trump-cyrus-christian-right-bible-cbn-evangelical-propaganda

Thus it becomes literally impossible to rationally converse with those that believe in St. Trump. To them, it is an article of faith that Trump will save us from the heathens – the Democrats.

What are we to do?

• First, stop. Just stop arguing with them. Or trying to convince them of anything. Don’t respond to the memes or counterpunch with social media responses. Let them soak in their own imaginary ecstacy of a new scriptural Revelation.

Do affirm to anyone all across the political spectrum – who will listen ‘in good faith’ – the reality of the most likely trajectory of a MAGA administration. This can be done unemotionally, and with the expectation that to some this will sound like good, positive changes in a new christian Nationalist nation. (The lower case “c” is intentional. They abuse the term Christian and thus I will not call them such).

And what exactly is that trajectory? What are some pragmatic and practical likelihoods of what a MAGA administration may bring? (I am intentionally leaving out the hottest of hot issues – abortion and Gaza – to focus on other more mundane stuff). Here’s what a MAGA makeover if the USA will look like:

1. The end of health care coverage for people under 26 years old that are still dependent on their parents. (Yes, that coverage is a marquee item of ObamaCare).
2. Elimination of federal funding for the arts, to match the MAGA states doing so already. (See what DeSantis just did in Florida; he literally ‘zeroed out’ arts funding).
3. Do away with the Department of Education. (And revert all education decisions to the States, without any federal oversight. Think eliminating special programs for special needs children, i.e.: autism).
4. Stop funding anything related to environmental protection or climate science. (Instead welcome rampant construction of coastal areas for the benefit of short term profits of developers).
5. The above would include de-fund NOAA. (This would leave weather forecasting in the hands of the private sector, including the likes of Elon Musk).
6. Focus on oil industry exploration. (And minimize any research of alternative energy, electric cars, or solar panels, and heavily fund highway construction and eliminate funding for public transportation).
7. Disregard any federal requirements for building work-force housing. (Instead, fund luxury mega projects through tax benefits for oligarch international developers).
8. Drastically reduce any federal grants for cities to deal with the challenges of homelessness, mental health, childcare, and other ‘social safety net’ measures. (Instead, conveniently rely on “charity and church organizations” to handle these ‘problems’).

And most surely:

• Dismantle the two party system, installing in its place a one party system where MAGA rules all aspects of the bureaucracy. This will include making it very difficult for any political party – other than the MAGA party – to certifiably win any elections; and, demand loyalty and allegiance to the President from mundane bureaucrats throughout the whole government infrastructure, from school boards and election boards to scientists and regulators. (This will be a return to the worst of the old days of the patronage system of Chicago, New York, and the Deep South).

I am convinced that given these dire times, there is an undercurrent of quiet rage in America that will not stay silent November 5th. I sense a collective outrage that may not be manifested in social media memes or outlandish public comments. But rather it is an outrage of underlying distaste for what a MAGA administration would bring – a visceral, “it does not seem right” feeling that leaves a bad taste in the mouth. This quiet rage will increase in intensity and numbers as MAGA’s true colors continue to come out and we get closer to election day. And, this quiet rage will spark a voter turnout like never seen before; a voter turnout that will unite many in saying NO to MAGA. We will win. (The MAGAs will not accept that victory. But that is for another essay).

Do you have other practical and pragmatic anecdotes of what a MAGA administration will bring to change the USA? Email me and I will continue curating the list over the next few months.

Reemberto 

Reemberto@gmail.com

I was born in Cuba a mere 13 years after WWII. I lived a childhood in turmoil, during the late 50’s and early 60’s. Think Revolution, Bay of Pigs, Missile Crisis. I exiled to the United States in December of 1966, just in time for the turmoil of the civil rights days, more assassinations, Woodstock, and the Moon landing.

I finished high school in 1974 – and just came back from celebrating our 50th reunion from Henry County High School. This was a time when disco was still in the gay underground, soon to blossom into the mainstream. In college – Georgia Tech – I was exposed to folks from everywhere, different lifestyles, and different ways of thinking beyond what I had experienced in the confines of suburban (almost rural) middle Georgia. 

I don’t know why I chose architecture; there are no architects in my family. But living and studying with architects expanded my horizons as to how to – literally – look at life. It also exposed me to the fringes of circles of drug, sex, rock-and-roll – and friends across the gender spectrum at a time when such was not yet ready for prime-time. 

Simultaneously, I deepened my faith in Catholicism. And soon discovered the strong correlation of my liberal schooling and the social justice teachings of the Church. Thanks to the Agrupación Católica Universitária (ACU) – and the spiritual direction of Father Edd Salazar, S.J. – I committed to do ‘faith doing justice’.

All at the same time, I remained staunchly grounded on my “Cubaness”, never straying too far from my innermost desire to reconnect with my contemporaries that I had left behind when I exiled. Indeed, I increasingly became interested in learning more about how the Cuban Revolution went so wrong, how the beautiful aspirations of a more egalitarian, less corrupt society soon warped into a top-down repressive system from within and a system captive to imperialist demands from outside. I also saw the inexcusable ‘thumb on the scale’ that the US put on Cuba with an illegitimate embargo/blockade that to this day strangles the Cuban people and does nothing more than provide the Regime – and its adversaries (or corollaries?) in Miami – to do nothing substantive to change things.

The older I got professionally, the more I saw around me – and in history – people of good faith, people doing good deeds, people truly committed to the service of others. (Yes, my glasses are indeed rose colored!) I was a sponge, trying to learn as fast as I could to dispel hate and embrace love. Not easy, but certainly committed to the pursuit.

The twists and turns of life took me to working with disenfranchised communities and those in the margins in the US. I was privileged to work with entities that sought to create change for the common good, including NeighborWorks America. (I was not necessarily involved in direct services – I did more technical assistance). My professional work became my life’s commitment. My life’s commitment became my professional work. And so it was for 12 years with Montgomery County government under the leadership of mentors and greats like Ike Leggett. And I have not looked back. The last three years of post official work has brought me to the University of Maryland where I’ve ran across an amazing team of devoted academicians that have rekindled my passion for learning from, sharing with, and accompanying those whose voices are seldom heard.

Oh, and how sad what I see today! The seemingly total collapse of the aspirational ideals I embraced throughout my life: aspirational ideals where the down-and-out, the discarded, and the invisible can be authentically engaged and be part of defining a more caring, empathetic – and yes, loving community. Yet it was not to be – at least not yet.

When the Berlin wall fell, I thought for sure we were starting a truly transformative era in the world. When 9/11 happened, I thought for sure we’d come together. When January 6th happened I thought we’d surely wake up.

Yet it was not to be – at least not yet.

Regarding Cuba, I continued to dabble in whatever ways I could to remain connected. And then Obama went. And I saw a glimpse of what was possible. The aspirations became closer to reality. It was exhilarating and exciting. I truly thought that we were moving towards a more reciprocal, just, welcoming, and mutually beneficial diplomatic relationship. Yet it was not to be – at least not yet. (But, I keep trying to do my part by taking students to experience the reality – and better understand of the ‘whys’ of a perverse US policy).

Sometimes I think that I was born a decade too late. Had I been born earlier, I would have totally been a Woodstock hippie.  Instead I became an old geezer that reminisces about those days with an idealism that is probably far from reality.

I don’t know that I am ready to grow old in a world opting for authoritarianism. It is sad to see the absence of aspiration of democracy anywhere in the world including the United States.

It is becoming clearly evident that I live in but a blip of history; a quirk of a world that is moving in the same direction it has always moved: more wars, more conflicts; our times are not different.

No, I have not fallen into desolation. There is still hope, there is still faith. Yet, it is a melancholic scene.  So many dreams deferred. So many aspirations shattered. And now people in the United States are on the verge of willingly electing a movement that will certainly reverse – if not destroy – what in my lifetime many of us worked towards: A loving community, because it is meant to be – even if not yet.

May goodness prevail. Vote.

Wishing you a reflective 4th of July. (Do people read long posts anymore? Probably not. But for the few kindred spirits that might, I hope you will pass it on).

Almost 250 years ago 13 renegade colonies declared independence from the rule of a one party system with an all-powerful king. They opted for a messy, imperfect – but aspirational – multi party system with three equal governing branches of power. So we thought. Evidently we’ve been celebrating the 4th all wrong all along. What we are now told we have is an all powerful president, a puppet judiciary, and an insignificant legislature. Sounds like the same thing we had before 1776.

But: We still get to elect the president – though this November 5 may very well be the last time we do so before the next president changes the rules to ensure all future presidents are from his ruling party.

As we watch the parades, enjoy baseball and eat them hot dogs, I pray we will commit individually, with family, friends and community to vote November 5. It may be the last time it matters.

Hyperbolic? Think again. Read Project 2025. If after you read it, you agree with it, then your vote should certainly go to the one party MAGA administration. That is your pregorative. If you win, MAGA will rule, establishing a one party system with a king of a pesident, making everyone else ‘the enemy’.

If you read Project 2025 and don’t agree with it, then vote for the continued evolution of an imperfect and incomplete – but aspirational – system of governance. We may not have gotten it right yet and are certainly not there yet either, but the alternative ain’t pretty. Not pretty at all.

(No false equivalency please. The choice is stark. One is assured chaos, uncertainty, and a one party rule by force. The other is messy, argumentative, deliberative, inclusive, and governed by a spectrum of different opinions, styles and substance).

May you have a reflective 4th. And commit to vote vote vote.

Black history. It is easy to give it a month of appreciation – and rightfully we should. And – not but – to me it is so much more: A lifetime of being shaped by the Black experience. I grew up in the deep south), I’ve lived for the last 20 years in Silver Spring, MD), and worked through the decades in disenfranchised communities throughout the US.

In 2013 I wrote a reflection on the 50th anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. famous “I have a dream” speech. (The original is archived in a Google Blogger posting). What follows is an update to that original posting.

I feel extremely blessed for having crossed paths with greatness through my years. While growing up in the Atlanta area, both personally and professionally, the happenstance incidents of intersecting with African-American heroes – and common folks – has shaped my life and core values in countless ways… (I thought I’d begin writing these down before I start forgetting them. I am sure that some of the stories are embellished with the inevitable influence of the passage of time. I hope I am doing them justice still.)

Most momentous among these experiences that shaped me was when, as a young architect (circa 1982), I was asked to do the architectural model for the concept of the African American Experience Museum. Dan Moore, the dreamer of the idea, worked with me to produce the concept: An interactive place where you would ‘feel’ the experience of ‘being there’ at some of history’s most precious moments during the Civil Rights era. The unveiling of the model brought together “Daddy” King, Coretta Scott King, MLK III, Andrew Young, Hank Aaron – and me. I was simply overwhelmed when asked to sign the same scroll that these giants signed… I’d like to think that the scroll is probably somewhere in the APEX museum today.

I had the honor of serving under Mayor Andrew Young as a housing and community development planner.  His Chief of Staff at that time was Shirley Franklin, who went on to become Mayor herself. Mayor Young’s term followed the tenure of Atlanta’s first African-American Mayor, Maynard Jackson. (The Atlanta airport was eventually renamed ‘Hartsfield- Jackson’ in his honor.)  One of my most memorable moments was being in the Mayor’s office discussing the housing issues in Atlanta. Shirley Franklin, ever the consummate strategists; Mayor Young, ever the consummate visionary; and Maynard Jackson (who came back for a third term after Young), ever the detailed expert. Indeed, it was so amazing to see Maynard Jackson bring his housing finance expertise (from his Chicago days) to specific issues.  He knew more about the ‘fine art’ of housing finance than anyone else I’ve ever encountered in my lifetime of working in the field.

Before joining the City, I had the pleasure of interacting with then Atlanta Councilmember (before becoming Congressman) John Lewis as we worked with inner-city communities when I was with the Community Design Center of Atlanta… Let’s just say that his wisdom in ‘little things’ was simply prophetic even back then… His projection of love – yes love – in contentious community settings was such a refreshing approach to community building!

And then there was Hosea Williams.  (For folks not from the ATL, let’s just say that Rev. Williams is a pillar of greatness when it comes to helping the poor – and a ruckus example of what an imperfect elected official can be.)  Rev. Williams’ commitment to serving the poor is now famous, especially during the holiday season. But, back then, it was not pretty. Finding the right location to serve the ever increasing number of food insecure people; getting the permits in time when – let’s just say that – his ‘organizational’ skills were not the greatest… And then there were his personality traits that unfortunately got him into trouble… Oh, that special like for libations!… Yet: even with these personal challenges, his commitment to feeding the poor was contagious… We miss him dearly. But his spirit lives on.

As I ‘grew’ professionally, I had the opportunity to go through the Leadership Atlanta program.  One of the most wrenching sessions that will forever stay with me was the session given by Civil Rights Great C.T. Vivian.  He was simply mesmerizing.  His ‘in-your-face’ approach to ‘speaking truth to power’ and ‘telling it like it is’ was so very powerful that it is a fundamental influence to my value system with regards to race to this day… I wonder if he could be that blunt in our hyper-sensitive politically correct world today… (I may have to ask his son, who is still doing work in the field…)

… But, it is not only the ‘famous’ African-Americans that have shaped my life’s value system. It is also the countless ‘average folks’ I’ve had the pleasure of crossing paths with over my lifetime… Some of these also merit a ‘shout out’: There’s Glen (I believe that’s his name):  The only classmate that invited me to a ‘conversation’ when I arrived in Griffin, Georgia (30 miles south of Atlanta) in 1968, in the 7th grade. (Yep, THAT ’68!) I spoke no English. White students would have none of me. When I walked into the lunchroom, Glen – an African-American student – signaled for me to come over and sit with him. We had a great lunch and became good friends… But, it was not easy. After that lunch the Spanish teacher took me to the Principal to tell me that I could not sit with ‘those kinds’ during lunch… I did not understand why; he was my friend!  The Principal explained to me why. If I wanted to survive in the school, I had to be a racist… Those were tough times.

We then moved on up to Hampton, Georgia, home of the famous Atlanta Raceway where the Allman Brothers had their largest open air concert – and home of Gladys Knights and the Pips.  I would commute to Henry County High School, starting there soon after it integrated. (I will be going back down there this summer to celebrate our 50th high school reunion). There were racial walk-outs; fights; rumblings; and all of that stuff… No matter: In my senior year I decided to run for Vice-President with my African-American friend on the ticket as President… We ran under the slogan of “Vote for A Cuban and an African”… Then, when graduation time came, we had a party at my house – in ‘lilly-white Lake Talmadge’…  Suffice it to say that having a house full of African-American friends in a white neighborhood back then was not exactly received well by the neighbors.

Stone Mountain, Georgia.  Birth home of the KKK. The mountain that has enshrined the Confederate troika of Robert E. Lee, Jefferson Davis, and Stonewall Jackson.  We ended up moving nearby (Tucker) and having many family gatherings there, watching the laser show highlight how the War of Northern Aggression was not about slavery, but about State rights. Yea, right… If there’s any doubt that God has a sense of humor, Stone Mountain Park today is one of the most popular sites for African-American family reunions.

So many experiences through the years!… Working with Joe Lewis and the community in Atlanta’s West End in the 70’s, meeting at the Shrine of the Black Madonna where I bought “Deep is the Hunger” by Howard Thurman; and working with Rudy Bryant from the Pratt Institute back in the 80’s to develop a national “Leadership Development Network”. 

Then working at Neighborhood Reinvestment Corporation (now NeighborWorks America) from the early 90’s till 2009, most of that time led at the time by Ken Wade, a national leader in his own right. I learned so much providing technical assistance to the executive directors of the Miami and New Orleans Neighborhood Housing Service – both strong African-American women; working alongside Don Phoenix, past Executive Director of the Savannah NHS; doing organizational assessment from Joan Straussman; helping to get elected African-American councilmembers in areas as diverse as Green County, Mississippi and Oakland, California (Robert Jackson and Lynette Gibson McElhaney); and visiting the Delta (“David Duke” country) with Winnie Stoney at a time when a Latino and an African-American women being seen together was not exactly ok; and coordinating community leadership institutes with Tony Austin, Mark Robinson, James Johnson, David Hunt, Ronnie Galvin, J Otis, Folami, and Karima – and so many others.

I will be forever grateful to Ike Leggett for giving me the opportunity to join his team back in 2009 as the Silver Spring Regional Director in Montgomery County (MD). I am blessed to have been mentored by Ike and came to deeply appreciate his life’s journey. It was particularly heartwarming to share with him and his lovely wife, Catherine – and still stay connected with them to this day. While working with the Montgomery County community, I also met Jim Stowe, whose commitment to the cause is so real. I was also fortunate to learn from two great matriarchs, Charlotte Coffield and Pat Tyson of the Lyttonsville neighborhood.

All of this exposure to greatness has shaped my deep appreciation of the African-American experience, and my personal commitment to continue learning from that experience. So, as I contemplate the “I have a dream” speech during this 2024 Black History Month, my heart is filled with gratitude for all those famously great and not-so-famously great people that have taught me – that are teaching me – the values of perseverance, resilience, honor, respect, and yes: Love!… I look forward with great joy and expectations to the experiences ahead as we continue the journey.

Reemberto Rodriguez

February 8, 2024

A very personal deep appreciation of Black history

Reemberto Rodriguez (February 9, 2024)

Black history. It is easy to give it a month of appreciation – and rightfully we should. And – not but – to me it is so much more: A lifetime of being shaped by the Black experience. I grew up in the deep south), I’ve lived for the last 20 years in Silver Spring, MD), and worked through the decades in disenfranchised communities throughout the US.

In 2013 I wrote a reflection on the 50th anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. famous “I have a dream” speech. (The original is archived in a Google Blogger posting). What follows is an update to that original posting.

I feel extremely blessed for having crossed paths with greatness through my years. While growing up in the Atlanta area, both personally and professionally, the happenstance incidents of intersecting with African-American heroes – and common folks – has shaped my life and core values in countless ways… (I thought I’d begin writing these down before I start forgetting them. I am sure that some of the stories are embellished with the inevitable influence of the passage of time. I hope I am doing them justice still.)

Most momentous among these experiences that shaped me was when, as a young architect (circa 1982), I was asked to do the architectural model for the concept of the African American Experience Museum. Dan Moore, the dreamer of the idea, worked with me to produce the concept: An interactive place where you would ‘feel’ the experience of ‘being there’ at some of history’s most precious moments during the Civil Rights era. The unveiling of the model brought together “Daddy” King, Coretta Scott King, MLK III, Andrew Young, Hank Aaron – and me. I was simply overwhelmed when asked to sign the same scroll that these giants signed… I’d like to think that the scroll is probably somewhere in the APEX museum today.

I had the honor of serving under Mayor Andrew Young as a housing and community development planner.  His Chief of Staff at that time was Shirley Franklin, who went on to become Mayor herself. Mayor Young’s term followed the tenure of Atlanta’s first African-American Mayor, Maynard Jackson. (The Atlanta airport was eventually renamed ‘Hartsfield- Jackson’ in his honor.)  One of my most memorable moments was being in the Mayor’s office discussing the housing issues in Atlanta. Shirley Franklin, ever the consummate strategists; Mayor Young, ever the consummate visionary; and Maynard Jackson (who came back for a third term after Young), ever the detailed expert. Indeed, it was so amazing to see Maynard Jackson bring his housing finance expertise (from his Chicago days) to specific issues.  He knew more about the ‘fine art’ of housing finance than anyone else I’ve ever encountered in my lifetime of working in the field.

Before joining the City, I had the pleasure of interacting with then Atlanta Councilmember (before becoming Congressman) John Lewis as we worked with inner-city communities when I was with the Community Design Center of Atlanta… Let’s just say that his wisdom in ‘little things’ was simply prophetic even back then… His projection of love – yes love – in contentious community settings was such a refreshing approach to community building!

And then there was Hosea Williams.  (For folks not from the ATL, let’s just say that Rev. Williams is a pillar of greatness when it comes to helping the poor – and a ruckus example of what an imperfect elected official can be.)  Rev. Williams’ commitment to serving the poor is now famous, especially during the holiday season. But, back then, it was not pretty. Finding the right location to serve the ever increasing number of food insecure people; getting the permits in time when – let’s just say that – his ‘organizational’ skills were not the greatest… And then there were his personality traits that unfortunately got him into trouble… Oh, that special like for libations!… Yet: even with these personal challenges, his commitment to feeding the poor was contagious… We miss him dearly. But his spirit lives on.

As I ‘grew’ professionally, I had the opportunity to go through the Leadership Atlanta program.  One of the most wrenching sessions that will forever stay with me was the session given by Civil Rights Great C.T. Vivian.  He was simply mesmerizing.  His ‘in-your-face’ approach to ‘speaking truth to power’ and ‘telling it like it is’ was so very powerful that it is a fundamental influence to my value system with regards to race to this day… I wonder if he could be that blunt in our hyper-sensitive politically correct world today… (I may have to ask his son, who is still doing work in the field…)

… But, it is not only the ‘famous’ African-Americans that have shaped my life’s value system. It is also the countless ‘average folks’ I’ve had the pleasure of crossing paths with over my lifetime… Some of these also merit a ‘shout out’: There’s Glen (I believe that’s his name):  The only classmate that invited me to a ‘conversation’ when I arrived in Griffin, Georgia (30 miles south of Atlanta) in 1968, in the 7th grade. (Yep, THAT ’68!) I spoke no English. White students would have none of me. When I walked into the lunchroom, Glen – an African-American student – signaled for me to come over and sit with him. We had a great lunch and became good friends… But, it was not easy. After that lunch the Spanish teacher took me to the Principal to tell me that I could not sit with ‘those kinds’ during lunch… I did not understand why; he was my friend!  The Principal explained to me why. If I wanted to survive in the school, I had to be a racist… Those were tough times.

We then moved on up to Hampton, Georgia, home of the famous Atlanta Raceway where the Allman Brothers had their largest open air concert – and home of Gladys Knights and the Pips.  I would commute to Henry County High School, starting there soon after it integrated. (I will be going back down there this summer to celebrate our 50th high school reunion). There were racial walk-outs; fights; rumblings; and all of that stuff… No matter: In my senior year I decided to run for Vice-President with my African-American friend on the ticket as President… We ran under the slogan of “Vote for A Cuban and an African”… Then, when graduation time came, we had a party at my house – in ‘lilly-white Lake Talmadge’…  Suffice it to say that having a house full of African-American friends in a white neighborhood back then was not exactly received well by the neighbors.

Stone Mountain, Georgia.  Birth home of the KKK. The mountain that has enshrined the Confederate troika of Robert E. Lee, Jefferson Davis, and Stonewall Jackson.  We ended up moving nearby (Tucker) and having many family gatherings there, watching the laser show highlight how the War of Northern Aggression was not about slavery, but about State rights. Yea, right… If there’s any doubt that God has a sense of humor, Stone Mountain Park today is one of the most popular sites for African-American family reunions.

So many experiences through the years!… Working with Joe Lewis and the community in Atlanta’s West End in the 70’s, meeting at the Shrine of the Black Madonna where I bought “Deep is the Hunger” by Howard Thurman; and working with Rudy Bryant from the Pratt Institute back in the 80’s to develop a national “Leadership Development Network”. 

Then working at Neighborhood Reinvestment Corporation (now NeighborWorks America) from the early 90’s till 2009, most of that time led at the time by Ken Wade, a national leader in his own right. I learned so much providing technical assistance to the executive directors of the Miami and New Orleans Neighborhood Housing Service – both strong African-American women; working alongside Don Phoenix, past Executive Director of the Savannah NHS; doing organizational assessment from Joan Straussman; helping to get elected African-American councilmembers in areas as diverse as Green County, Mississippi and Oakland, California (Robert Jackson and Lynette Gibson McElhaney); and visiting the Delta (“David Duke” country) with Winnie Stoney at a time when a Latino and an African-American women being seen together was not exactly ok; and coordinating community leadership institutes with Tony Austin, Mark Robinson, James Johnson, David Hunt, Ronnie Galvin, J Otis, Folami, and Karima – and so many others.

I will be forever grateful to Ike Leggett for giving me the opportunity to join his team back in 2009 as the Silver Spring Regional Director in Montgomery County (MD). I am blessed to have been mentored by Ike and came to deeply appreciate his life’s journey. It was particularly heartwarming to share with him and his lovely wife, Catherine – and still stay connected with them to this day. While working with the Montgomery County community, I also met Jim Stowe, whose commitment to the cause is so real. I was also fortunate to learn from two great matriarchs, Charlotte Coffield and Pat Tyson of the Lyttonsville neighborhood.

All of this exposure to greatness has shaped my deep appreciation of the African-American experience, and my personal commitment to continue learning from that experience. So, as I contemplate the “I have a dream” speech during this 2024 Black History Month, my heart is filled with gratitude for all those famously great and not-so-famously great people that have taught me – that are teaching me – the values of perseverance, resilience, honor, respect, and yes: Love!… I look forward with great joy and expectations to the experiences ahead as we continue the journey.

Reemberto Rodriguez

February 8, 2024

I can only imagine that each of us is processing what is going on in the Holy Land differently. I wrote these two related thoughts down to help myself through it. And hopefully this may help others as well.

A SECULAR (in the positive sense of the word!) VIEW:

Hamas should be brought to justice. And.

And the government of Israel should be held accountable to reckon with its treatment of Palestinians.

We can hold both of these aspirations to be self-evident.

It is indeed shameful that the three major monotheistic faiths can’t seem to live together. We together – Christians, Muslims, and Jews – are well over half the world’s population. Our younger brothers – the Muslims – are second in numbers only to Christianity. Our elders – the Jews – are but an infinitesimally small percent (0.2%) of the world’s population. But they are also the most persecuted through the ages. Sometimes I wonder what the world’s non-monotheistic faiths are thinking of this moment. Yes, they have their own dysfunction. But, it is still shameful that we believers in the One God can’t get along.

Yet, what are we the middle children of Abraham – the Christians – to do? What should we pray for? What actions can we take?

What is the responsibility of the privileged, who through pure circumstances and through no sweat of their own, are enjoying the fruits and benefits of their historic and oftentimes systemic oppression of others?

What is the responsibility of some of the oppressed, who through pure circumstances and through no fault of their own, find themselves in an intolerable desolate situation believing that there is no apparent way out other than to violently attack the oppressors?

And, what is the responsibility of the rest of us, the supposed “innocent bystanders”? Are we to live on as if nothing concerns us? Or are we to take sides and vilify “the other” – particularly those who opt for violence and terror?

Or maybe – just maybe – we who are able could take the time to listen and learn without prejudice to distinguish between the oppressed people and their terrorist leaders; between the privileged people and their corrupt government?

Can we hold two truths simultaneously? Can we acknowledge both that the leadership of the oppressors have caused great harm by doing whatever it takes to stay in power AND that there is a segment of the oppressed people that will all too often resort to and excuse terrorism?

One does not make the other wrong AND might does not make right.

The answer is not simple. And there is no fail-safe approach or process that will guarantee peaceful, conflict free coexistence, collaboration, and mutual respect.

But we can be sure of one thing: Violence, war, and terror will lead only to a spiral upwards of violence, war, and terror.

Only the give-and-take of diplomacy, connectedness and the realization that one side can neither exterminate nor subdue the other into submission can lead to a viable arrangement of coexistence. 

Only the mutual aspiration for shared economic prosperity and hope for a better future can avoid an apocalyptic future.

Let’s talk. Let’s talk knowing that no side gets all they sought. All sides must put hate aside. No one should demand for all people to love each other, only that they recognize each other as humans and stop killing each other lest mutual annihilation becomes inevitable.

AUGMENTED BY A FAITH (in the positive sense of the word!) VIEW:

Sometimes it takes an act of evil to wake us up to the wrongs we have committed. The challenge is to not respond to evil with evil. But to prayerfully discern what is God’s will for a graceful response. 

If we respond to evil in hate, we are doomed.

If evil causes us to enter into a state of deep desolation and thus respond in rage, we are doomed.

If we resort to responding with the historical wrath of God, we have not advanced in love.

If instead our discernment after we experience the atrocities of evil lead us to act with empathy, understanding, and charity, then we are in the Grace of God.

Challenging, yes. Impossible, no.

But what about talk of “just war”, “proportional responses”, “no justice no peace”, “it is time for a 9th Crusade”?

No. Violence begets violence. Violent responses never ever yield authentic, lasting peace. Ever.

I don’t know if this makes me a “pacifist” or “idealist” – or “a slave of righteousness” – as today’s 1st reading at Mass referenced. If it does, may it be for the Greater Glory of God.

When I asked friends and family to guess how I recently traveled from DC to ATL, the response was unanimous:

[1] plane?

[2] car?

[3] train?

They all struck out. Some guessed I biked. Others, knowing my love for walking, suggested I walked.

Nope. All wrong.

Not a single person suggested or guessed that I took the bus. It’s simply never entered their mind. Unthinkable!

When I shared with them that I did indeed take the bus they were incredulous. They simply did not believe me. Typical follow up questions included: “Why would you do that?”, “Have you lost your marbles?”, “Are you ok?”

Well, I did. I took the bus. Washington,  DC to Atlanta, Georgia. Overnight at that.

It all began on a Thursday evening with a 21 minute, one mile walk from my house to the Takoma Metro station. After a mere 3 minute wait for the Metro, I arrived at Union Station in Washington, DC 15 minutes later. A beautiful, classic building.

Time for dinner at the Union Station food hall. Not fancy, but filling enough.

To get to the loading area for intra city buses you must go to the garage. FlixBus (who bought Greyhound) uses bays 5-8. The bus departed promptly at 10:50 p.m., as scheduled. It arrived in Atlanta 12 hours later, as scheduled.

Loading the bus at Union Station garage was the first of many experiences. To get on the bus I had to walk past an overflowing trash can and a family literally sitting on the pavement feeding their kids.

The Chinese ticket-taker – the driver himself – had very little patience with anyone with questions. “Get on! Get on!” he’d yell, in his accented English.

When I purchased my ticket I did not buy the option to select a seat. Nor did I buy the privilege of riding without a neighbor on the seat next to me. I did buy it early so I had seat 2A assigned to me. Getting on the bus, there was no way to know which seat was which. But I imagined that 2 meant the second row and A meant the window. Well, someone was already there. No problem. I took seat B. 

My neighbor was a pleasant older gentleman – like myself. We connected because he was headed down to near my old neck of the woods, Love Joy, Georgia. We exchanged some pleasantries including his stories of growing up African American south of Atlanta and me growing up in the same area as a White Latino. Soon after we departed he moved on to an empty seat with no neighbor so we could both stretch out – and try to sleep. (The bus was at best 50% full).

In between the turns and squeaks, I tried valiantly to get some shut eyes. Listening to music with my headphones helped. But not even that could mask the blaring conversation the bus driver was having on his phone. Other passengers were clearly annoyed at this too – but to no avail.

The lights inside the bus were out while on the road. But as we approached each of the six stops we were eventually to make, the driver would scream – yes, scream – “Richmond! Richmond”!  And he would abruptly turn all the lights on to the brightest level. This began to feel like cell torture to make you sleep deprived.

As the bus approached one of the stops in southern Virginia, two Latinos – I am pretty sure they were Venezuelans who had recently crossed the border and ended up in DC – came to the front to speak to the bus driver. He’d have none of it. “Sit! Sit!” One of the Venezuelans innocently kept asking in Spanish “donde queda la tienda?” (where is the store?)  Evidently someone was to meet them there at some store. No answer. Instead when the bus stopped, the driver firmly shouted – yes, shouted – “out! out!” The two men confusedly exited the bus and the driver expediently took off. Not a peep from the other passengers.

At another stop a cheerful African American lady got on with her bag and promptly sat down on the seat behind me. From the phone conversation she was having and I could not help but hear, she was recently homeless and on her way to reconnect with a friend in another city. While her conversation kept me awake, it was at least a good story to listen to as I tried to fall asleep. I was somewhat successful in catching some shut eyes for the next couple of hours.

Three hours from Atlanta the bus stopped at a large gas-station where we were allowed to get off the bus to go to the bathroom. But, in the words of the bus driver, “quickly! quickly! 8 minutes”. I followed the crowd in grabbing our respective critical belongings and rushed to the bathroom – I had not used the bathroom on the bus. I rushed back to my 2A seat, overjoyed that I made it back in time. 

Oh oh. Someone else was not so lucky. A young Brown lady who had been sitting all the way in the back of the bus – clearly with a dependency challenges given her own admission as she talked to herself – never made it back. Not a peep from the passengers. The driver soon continued his loud phone conversation.

As we approached Atlanta the bus got off the highway at Chamblee, only miles from downtown. I used to live in Chamblee, so I knew the territory. The bus stopped at a rather unkept supposed ‘bus station’, identified as the Chinese Bus Depot – on Shallowford Road (near Buford Hwy, for my ATL friends). I got off. The Station was closed. (I have subsequently found out that FlixBus has arranged to partner with these bus drivers and bus stops to expedite their rebranding of Greyhound). I called my brother to come pick me up and waited outside. It had been 12 hours since I had left DC. Impeccable scheduling.

After 36 hours visiting family and friends in the northern suburbs of Atlanta, it was time to do it all over again Saturday night. I dreaded the thought of six stops with another militant driver. But, I had to get back to DC to go watch the Braves play the Nationals the next day.

A friend dropped me off at the Civic Center MARTA station, where the FlixBus website stated the bus would pick me up at 9:50 p.m.

The bus stop designation was nowhere to be found at the MARTA metro station. The handful of folks hanging out on this not-busy-at-all station on a Saturday night in downtown Atlanta were clearly not looking to get on the bus or the metro. Let’s just say they were hanging out. No problema. They did not bother me; I did not bother them. So I sat down in one of the benches after getting clarity from a lady helping empty trash cans that indeed, this was the stop for FlixBus. 

As I waited – having arrived on purpose with plenty of time to spare – a car drives up and drops off a young man with some apparent disability. (This was evident from the women that helped him out of the car). I motioned, inviting them to share my bench. The woman was thankful – and so was the young man. In trying to start a conversation, I realized he could not speak, nor understand much – at least English. (I believe they were from West Africa as I heard the women speak French).

A FlixBus arrived ahead of schedule and we both rushed to make sure we would get on, me expecting the worst from my previous experience. The bus driver got off the bus and as I tried to get on he screamed “not your bus! not your bus!” Oops. This was not the DC bus. I tried to explain it to the young man, who got it immediately. And so did the other five or six passengers going in the direction of DC/NY. Oh well.

Our bus did arrive on time, promptly at 9:50 p.m. The two bus drivers got off. They were two chubby African American men, one younger and the other middle age. They let us know that the bus was going all the way to NY via Charlotte, Richmond, and DC. Wait! Could it be that there’d be only three stops? I didn’t even ask. I got on the bus and found my seat, 2B. (I did take A, the window). There were no more than 10 passengers on the bus. 

The bus driver worked quickly, but graciously. Once everyone was on the bus he politely asked a Black lady who was talking on the phone to please lower her voice. She was speaking a language other than English – I could not decipher. She did not understand him so she got up and walked towards him. He politely, using hand signals, communicated the message which she clearly understood, saying “sorry”, and went back to her seat.

Traffic getting out of Atlanta was hell. Only the commuter lane was moving. And it was Saturday night at 10:30 at night. Nonetheless, we made good time to Charlotte. All passengers were asleep by the time we got there. The bus driver turned on the lights in three steps, dimming from soft to bright; and loudly announced “Charlotte!” Folks got off; others got on; the driver turned off the lights; we moved on. No issues.

The ride to the next stop – at a gas station for stretching our legs and grabbing some bites – was totally uneventful. I got at least 4 hours of undisturbed sleep. Not bad. At the gas station I bought some eats and loaded the bus. No hurry. 

The drive to Richmond was equally non-eventful. People got off; people got on. And on to Washington, DC.

We arrived in Washington a full hour before the scheduled arrival. The bus driver indicated to passengers that the same bus would continue to NYC, so everyone had an hour to go inside and rest in the architectural marvel that is Union Station.

I walked to the Metro and got on the train to Takoma station, then walked home. Beautiful weather. Nice walk.

The cost of the bus trip? $120.00. Less than ½ what it would have cost to fly or go on the train. Compared to planes, buses are infinitely less hassle. No security line, no long wait at the airport, no long line to get on the plane. No long ride to and from the airports here and there. Door-to-door flying takes no less than 6 hours, less than half of the 13 hours the bus takes. Yet, it is a tireying 6 hours.

Would I ride the bus again? In a heartbeat.

Would I recommend it? Only to cost conscious folks that understand what they are getting into. That is, I highly recommend the bus to folks that appreciate connecting with diverse people and culture regardless of economic standing – and do not get rattled by incidents that are not everyday occurrence in their own life. 

The folks that ride the bus are generally of lower socio-economics, yes. And mostly Black and Brown – I was the only White person on the bus going there and coming back. But, these good folks are also our neighbors, our workforce, our long lost friends. We all have stories to tell and share. We all have issues and challenges.

If you never experience these different social circles, you are prone to form your biased perceptions based on movies and social media, where exaggeration and hyperbolics loom. I find sharing spaces with others to be a very human thing to do, a learning experience, and just plain fun adventures.

Life is good. Live on. Ride on. enJoy.

OPPENHEIMER – Desolation? Nah. Hopefulness!

Got to see the film Oppenheimer last night. Complex. Storytelling only as quality film can do. Yet necessarily incomplete, rushed and biased – as all stories are. After all, it is a 3-hour movie, not a 3-month seminar.

I can only surmise that different people take away different things from this film. In many ways, you get out of it what you put into it. And, what you get out of it will be influenced by your knowledge of history – and the source of your knowledge. 

It is easy to walk away from the film with a sense of desolation; a sense that humanity is doomed to an unavoidable self destruction.

After watching this film, we may be tempted to fall in the trap of looking at humanity as parasites. We may very well be one of the shortest lived species on planet Earth – and the only one to self-destruct in a mere few millennia of existence.

The web of complex relationships that weave through the film is jarring. The emotions displayed are raw. The insecurities – and false securities – exhibited by many of the characters are numbing. (The love scenes are unnecessary. Too bad Hollywood feels they must be in every R rated movie).

The main character – Oppenheimer – is indeed wishy-washy. And, as Truman calls him, somewhat of a “cry-baby”. But, aren’t we all? To me he comes across as very real and relatable. To others that seek certitude and definiteness he may come across as weak, confused, and impressionable. Again, to me he is real.

Too bad that REM”s “It’s the end of the world as we know it” was already used in another movie – Independence Day. It would have been a fitting soundtrack for Oppenheimer.

So, what to make of it? Should we simply sulk in our own inevitable demise and fall prey to insolvable desolation after watching Oppenheimer? Nah.

I choose to view the film as a portrayer of what went wrong that we can learn from and do right. Technology in and of itself is neither good nor bad. It is all in how we choose to apply it. 

Unlike every other species on Planet Earth we can choose to apply what we can do – or not do – for the collective good and perpetuation of the species.  Or we can choose to be self centered as individuals or tribes and grab power through violence, regardless of consequences – including potential extinction.

We know what it takes. We have philosophy – and faith – to guide us. Most major philosophical and faith traditions converge on the simple, similar answer. 

While we are certainly not the only species to have emotions, we are the only one to act upon those emotions with much more than just instinct. We have intellect, we have cumulative knowledge, we have the stories of our past. We also have compassion, we care, we love. We find joy in others – in relationships. We have the capacity to go beyond linear decision-making and discern what actions to take – or not take. 

We know how to do this. We know how to be co-creators of our own future. We can do it individually – and collectively.

I am not being pollyannaish or looking at life through rose colored glasses. I am fully aware that individual hurt – deep hurt – and collective atrocities are very real. I am fully aware that our history is told from the perspective of war, struggle, and conflict. (I am also keenly aware that history is written by winners).

And – not but. I choose to be hopeful. I choose to see the goodness in others. I choose compassion. I choose to build relationships on where our agendas intersect – and celebrate joyfully. And I am thankful for what others have taught me.

I also am firmly and eternally hopeful that there is a critical mass of humanity that feels similarly. As the grandfather of three, I know in my bones these future generations will improve on our successes, learn from our failures, and pass on that positivity to their grandchildren joyfully and jubilantly. And our species will evolve to meet whatever challenge may come our way.

Watching Oppenheimer does not have to be a downer. It can spark our (re)commitment to do what we can – individually and collectively – to be part of a constructive way forward rather than a destructive force.

We can do this!

(Comments? Send me an email Reemberto(at)gmail.com)

Trump found guilty of insurrection by majority of Senators

Let the record show – and history books not forget – that on February 13, 2021 57% of U.S. Senators voted to charge Donald Trump, ex-President of the United States with insurrection and enticing his followers to attack the Capital. This is the first time in American History that a sitting President has been complicit in an attack on another branch of the Federal Government.

And, lest we forget, he has yet to concede that he lost the elections. He continues to be a clear and present danger to American democracy, the U.S. Constitution, and basic human decency. He is also arguably a traitor. He is definitively a criminal – as hopefully courts will prove someday soon.

Many of his followers are saying we must move on. Move on? Nope. No justice, no peace.

But, I get it. “Moving on” is the American way – particularly when it is convenient to maintain the status quo, when it is convenient to not upset the consumer economy, or when it is convenient to appease that segment of Americans who are blatantly scared of the inevitability of the demographic future of America – that is, browner and blacker.

Yet we keep paying the price of this ‘moving on’.

• We never resolved the basic tenet of the evil of slavery after the Civil War; and we are still paying dearly for that inaction.
• We opted to whitewash the Spanish flu pandemic, moving on to the roaring 20s and never giving it due importance in history books; and we are now paying the price by totally fumbling our response to Covid.
• We have never faced the embedded abuses of the immigrant labor force, the quasi-slave labor of prisonerS, or the massive and ever-increasing wealth gap; and the day of reckoning of these inequities is now upon us.

“Moving on” from the events that led to January 6, 2021 – and “moving on” from holding President Trump accountable – will simply fester the gross underbelly of racism and the warped interpretation of Manifest Destiny and American Exceptionalism. The “American First” movement re-ignited by Donald Trump has given the license to White Supremacist, outrages conspiracy theorist, and subtle racists to pursue their destructive ideologies as if they were legitimate American ideals.

It is one thing to acknowledge that the U.S. has always had a critical mass of its population committed to non-democratic ideals. It is one thing to acknowledge that the U.S. has always had a critical mass of its population willing to accept authoritarianism as a means to quiet opposition – even if it is a majority. It is another thing to give these anti-democratic values the space to fester and grow without challenging them in the court of law – and through legislative means.

Tumpism may very well outlive Trump. Actually, Trumpism existed long before Trump. He simply legitimized it and gave it a face – his face. How Trumpism will evolve in the months to come, the damage it will do to the American psyche – and potentially to the safety of the American people  – is unknown.

Only time will tell. And: Those of us that care about such things – those of us that believe in the core goodness of “most of us” living in the U.S., and those of us that find it necessary to remain engaged in the civic spaces – will continue working to squelch Trumpism, not only to “move on”.

No justice, no peace.

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