Author: Reemberto@gmail.com

If not us, then who? If not now, then when?

Oh, how normal it feels! Super Bowl Sunday was surely fun. The weekend was restful. The grandkids offer such a relief from the madness around us. Looking forward – or not! – to the snow. Heading down to see family next weekend. All good.

Yet the madness of the moment is still very much with me. Hard as I try to avoid it, the anxiety of what is yet to come can be overwhelming. 

The doubts of the validity of our concerns emerge ever more poignant: Are we exaggerating things? Are we in our own bubble too much? Are we getting our information from ultra biased sources? Might it be that what is happening is nothing more than a fast paced change that will yield some corrective measures more so than radicalism, autocracy or oligarchy? Are we exaggerating things?

The initial rage has turned into sustained anger. How to turn that anger into action consumes my thinking. The inevitable thought of what others should be doing keeps entering my head, knowing full well that I can not control what others do – I can only control myself, what I do.

But, what can I do?

I’ve tried talking with family members who voted for Trump, only to be scolded for not having understood their pain during the 8 years of Obama and 4 years of Biden. It is they who tell me “elections have consequences; you voted for them!” And they are blunt when they tell me “everything Trump and Musk are doing is exactly why we voted for them. Take a chill pill. This is only the beginning!” No response would break through their impenetrable shield to their fountain of information, to their self imposed censorship.

And this, my friends, is why a new ABC* poll yesterday had Trump at his highest approval rating, 53%. (*It is not lost on me that it is a strategic advantage for ABC to come out with such a poll. After all, they are the latest media organization that has buckled under Trump’s pressure by offering to settle his lawsuit and contribute millions to his future library).

The road ahead is not for the faint at heart. I totally understand anyone who decides to retreat from this conversation or decides to take only token action, contribute a few dollars here, write a letter to congress there. After all, we all have a life to live. After all, the vast majority of the world’s population live totally disengaged from their government. Of course they are all impacted monumentally by the actions of totalitarian, inefficient or ineffective governments. But, most folks are consumed with the day to day drudgery of making due (‘resolver’); not unlike us who are consumed by the day to day drudgery of consumerism, entertainment, health maintenance, and such.

Sometimes I wonder what our generation was thinking when we rejoiced on the progress made over the last few decades, expecting that direction to continue unfeather. Yet we see today across the globe, and across the cultural and faith spectrum, a fierce backlash to what we considered progress. For example, it seems to be in vogue in our Church to question Vatican II; the advancement of women is being reversed in many countries throughout the world; and, misguided nostalgia for traditionalism rules the day. 

And the experiment with democracy? It is dead too. Idealism is dead. 

There is not a single country in the world where democracy is seen as a viable option for governance. Indeed, democracy is losing at the ballot box only to give those that get elected the opportunity to use democratic principles against democracy itself and entrench themselves in power and destroy the very thing that got them elected.

How silly and naïve of us to think that we would be the generation to conclusively turn around centuries of society being controlled by the toxic marriage of self-serving political power with those that control the world’s capital? Isn’t that how it has been since the dawn of humankind? How insolent of us to think that we would live in the enlightened era – that moment in history – where common folks would work collaboratively for the common good to create the “beloved community”.

The realization that that was not meant to be, that our lifetime is but a blip in history. that there is a lot of work to be done by others in future generations – if future generations come to be, that is – that realization is sinking in. 

Next year the USA celebrates 250 years of what happened in 1776, the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Surely it will be a dystopian celebration, one where those in power will claim that they are reclaiming the real intent of that ideal and aspirations. They will – in essence – steal our dream. (For those of us that are Cuban, this sounds all too familiar. Jose Marti was conveniently ‘repurposed’ to serve the purpose of the 1959 Revolution).

Yet, with all this ‘doom-and-gloom’, with all this coming at us, I can not fall into desolation. My faith won’t let me do that. I still believe in the constructive will of people, the power of relationships, and the spirit of goodness. 

I refuse to give the power to those in power to have power over me. 

Yes, I will pray. And yes, I will do contemplation. And yes, I will participate in our rituals and sacraments. And. And – not but – I will take independent and collective action. I don’t know what those actions will be. I do pray that, as St. Ignatius may or may not have said:

“I will do everything as if it all depended on me, knowing full well that it all depends on God.”

(Or, as Mother Teresa of Calcutta supposedly said: “Live ‘as if’ – as if you believe”).

And this, my friends, is why I must not fall into desolation, get discouraged, exhausted, or give up.

If not us, then who? If not now, then when?

GRACIAS (por nada) Señor Trump

NOTE: This thought-piece was inspired by having had a brutal day Saturday, February 1st, 2025. I went to the National Building Museum to see the Brutalism Exhibit and then later in the evening to watch the film The Brutalist at Silver Spring’s American Film Institute. A brutalist day indeed. Not unlike what we are experiencing in the USA at these times. Brutal. In Spanish: Brutál, with the accent appropriately enough in that last syllabus for extra emphasis.)

Gracias Señor Trump. Thank you!

Thank you for recognizing that the body of water touching the nations of the USA, Estados Unidos de Mexico, and Cuba rightfully belong to the people of this great Continent – (North) America – and should hereafter be known as The Gulf of America. As a Spanish speaker born and raised in North America (Cuba and USA, respectively) I thank you for your foresight to accept the reality that nations need to share natural resources, talents, and treasures to benefit all, not just the few that extract and exploit. (Oh, wait! That’s not why you did it? Then, gracias por nadaI – thank you for nothing).

As long as we are in the renaming and reaffirming kick, I commit to – during the time that you are President – call this great Nation of which you are the duly elected leader “USA”. Just USA. For those of us that are fortunate enough to speak Spanish, this is quite fitting. You see, USA in Spanish means ‘use’. And that is exactly how you govern (or rather dictate). You ‘use’ people. You use people as commodities, as disposable goods, as transactional instruments. 

The chant USA! USA! USA! will have a totally new meaning under your tenure as President. Everytime I hear it, I will be reminded of your abuse of people; of how you, in Spanish “USA y abUSA nuestra gente” – how you use and abuse our people.

Every time I hear someone say (or sing) “I love the USA”, I will be reminded that to you this refers only to that part of USA that will bend their knees to and worship you. I will be reminded that to you “I love the USA” means loving a hyper-consumer society that all too often rapes your soul in the absurd competition to have more stuff. I will be reminded that to you “I love the USA” means love everyone except ⅓ of the folks living in USA, i.e.: many immigrants, federal workers, LBGTQIA+, or Blacks.

You see, when I say or sing “I love the USA” I am reminded of the amazing awesome people I have met in USA during my six decades here. I will be reminded that the vast majority of folks that live in this land are hard-working, empathetic, welcoming, and God-fearing people. I know. I’ve had the privilege of interacting with people from across the social, economic and political spectrum in nearly every State in this great – if incomplete and imperfect – Nation, USA. I have worked with those struggling in the streets of urban USA, those in the halls of political power, those in the ivory towers, those in the C suites, and those that control how capital works (for good and bad). I have seldom met the vile, mean, vulgar, and indecent persons that you so perfectly personify. I’ve certainly met a fair share of people I disagree with, people that I will argue with, people that I feel uncomfortable with. But like you? Very – very – few. It is not lost on me that those that you enticed to storm the Capitol – and later ‘forgave’ – may be like you. But, those are the rare exceptions to a USA full of common folks with common aspirations and common problems who want to live-and-let-live, and (mostly) respect each other – even if some have that sickness of racism and homophobia still in them.

May I remind you Sir, this month, Black History Month (and yes, BHM is still a thing to most of us), that the house in which you reside – the White House – was built by Blacks and is maintained by Latinos. May I remind you, Sir, that your wealth was greatly facilitated by multi-generational wealth, something that is structurally denied to many descendants of slaves and new immigrants. And, may I remind you, Sir, that as much as you’d like to not recognize it, you are in a privileged class of White people, you are a product of another type of DEI – Daddy’s Entitlement & Investments. (And please don’t talk to me about the token Jews in your family, your adoring Black friends, or your new-found Latino lovers, including Rubio and Co. These are all – not unlike you – opportunists; and they will turn on you on a dime when the day comes).

Señor Presidente, here I am to say “PRESENTE”. Present! Present to resist, organize against, and fight your divisive, disruptive, disgusting disarray of malicious dictates. You may have the power of the presidency and the power of the pulpit to misinform and create an impenetrable shield to your cult following who choose self-censorship over critical thinking. You may have conned many – as you would say – ‘good people’ to be swayed by your populist language about high inflation, being left behind, and other very real conditions of a system that is out of whack and in need of fixing. You may actually have some simplistic ideas that merit conversation, dialogue, and debate. But how you go about things, your pompous self-indulgent indecent style, how you dictate, how you are re-interpreting the Constitution and the laws of USA to impose your draconian will on the masses – that approach will not work. Will. Not. Work. The power of the people throughout these United States of America will reclaim USA for the – albeit aspirational – common, collective good sooner rather than later. Anger and rage will be turned into active resistance and practical and pragmatic action. 

Sir, you remain a pathetic old man surrounded by useful idiots and pathetic rich people whose adulation is shallow and temporary. You may be able to disrupt, but you will not destroy our determination to be USA – “The United States of America: Unidos Siempre Avanzando”). 

Reemberto Rodriguez

__________________

JANUARY 21 TUESDAY

And so it Begins: The Era of Governing by Fear Mongering and Selective Enforcement

My heart goes out to the families that today begin a life of government repression by fear if not practice. While our personal concern about this autocratic government is mostly philosophical, theoretical, and distant, for many families in our community, neighbors and friends the impacts of governance by fear mongering is real, with real daily practical negative consequences. This includes – among many others – people here from Central America, federal workers, and LGBTQ+ folks.

CENTRAL AMERICANS

Many of our Central American neighbors will have to live with the uncertainty of not knowing whether their TPS (Temporary Protective Status) will be overturned. Others will have to be excruciatingly careful of being pulled over because their immigrant documentation is not in order. some of the 20-something Dreamers – brought to the US as small children – are thrown into the insecurity of not knowing what is next.

Can you possibly put yourself in their shoes? How would it feel to wake up in the morning not knowing if you, your parents, or your friend will face deportation today, next week, next month, or sometime over the next four years? How could you plan for the near future, much less plan for retirement, make that addition to the house, or simply plan a vacation? Even a visit to the hospital for a minor injury would bring angst and anxiety. You’d be living in fear, a fear mercilessly imposed by a mean-spirited government that dehumanized you and wants you outta here. What respect can you have for that government? What energy would you have for community involvement or civic engagement? You’d just want to get by without any incident, make sure you make no noise, hoping you get to see another day in this land.

FEDERAL WORKERS

Making federal workers the scapegoats of the exaggerated claim of government inefficiencies is another mean-spirited narrative of this Administration. Of course there are plenty of examples of the federal government bureaucratic blunders and mismanagement. Yet, to convey that federal workers are all a bunch of leeches abusing their government jobs is another fear mongering tactic. 

To impose on the federal workforce a real or implied allegiance requirement to the President is nothing short of the implementation of an autocratic State. To mess with the promised retirement plans and contractual commitments of these workers is a direct low blow to people that joined this workforce in good faith, many compromising the high salaries they could have gotten in the private sector for the privilege of working for the collective common good. (And yes: I know what I am talking about here – it is personal).

LGBTQ+

Imagine after years of a generally welcoming cultural environment to be fear-mongered into getting back in the closet. Imagine being happily married and being scared into thinking the unthinkable, that your legal marriage may be invalidated. Imagine being the parent of a child that expresses ambiguous sexual orientation and having to deal with elected officials that despise your family and want to make your child into what they are not. 

The attack of this Administration on the LGBTQ+ community is abhorrent. It is beyond the “don’t ask don’t tell” policy of the past. It is another example of their mean-spirited, self-righteous, misguided Christian principles. It is yet another example that they will govern without regards to the aspirations of those that disagree with them.

And so it begins: The era of governing by fear mongering and selective enforcement.

And so we will resist, we will protest, and we will be empathetic and in solidarity with our friends and neighbors that are being selectively abused by a government led by a convicted felon who is a useful idiot of the world’s richest man.

JANUARY 22 WEDNESDAY

THIS is a Christian Nation?!? In case you missed it, the Trump Administration has directed ICE to no longer respect schools and houses of worship as spaces off-limit to immigration raids. Early this morning Trump demanded an apology from the Episcopal Bishop that simply reminded us of our faith-based calling to be emphatic of all people, calling her – among other derogatory language – ‘nasty’. What did she say? Watch the video: 

https://youtu.be/mI4h4zbkNMU?si=_vQSaMmOidhXmTpb

JANUARY 23 THURSDAY

Today I began listening to Pope Francis’ new autobiography. It was simply jarring to listen to the first two chapters of his own immigration story while riding the F4 bus being the only white person on the bus, accompanied by people all evidently from somewhere else – mostly Central Americans – and others who are descendants of slaves – African Americans.

Keeping it real. This is what I overheard as the bus meandered its way through Montgomery County and Prince George’s County, Maryland:

 A conversation between two Latina women sitting on the seat in front of me: One nervously says to the other, “I don’t know what I will do with my children if my work is raided”. The other – equally nervously – responds, “My Jewish neighbors have offered to take in my kids in case something happens to me”. That, my friend, is the reality of Trump’s America. Thankfully, we live in the State where people of goodwill are empathetically standing up and accompanying and helping these victims of State sponsored violence. These arbitrary raids are instilling fear in the Latino community to the point of having to plan what families will do when they are rounded up and shipped away from their children as if they were disposable trash. Neither schools or churches are beyond the wrath of these raids. 

Want to do something but can’t figure out what? We are fortunate to have in our own backyard an organization that is at the front line of the resistance: CASA. Please donate. https://wearecasa.org/donate-2/

 

Feeling joyful, and hopeful for our grandkids (a post DNC posting)

I know we are all extremely busy. But sometimes you see a picture that triggers a music video that triggers some joyful thoughts that are accentuated when you read a meditation – and then you feel compelled to write it down for your grandkids to read years from now; and for your friends and family to know where your head and heart are at.

(This piece is an unapologetic ode to the Democratic National Convention and the amazing American tapestry of speakers that gave it their best. They spoke to me. Their language is universal – for those that want to hear and listen). 

This morning, our youngest son sent us the picture of our youngest 1-yearl old grandaughter literally doing her first act of civil disobedience, protesting against the closing of her neighborhood playground that happens to be next to the house of the vice presidential nominee of the Republican Party. JD Vance. 

My first thought?  Why did this man – who supposedly wants to serve the people – force the closure of a neighborhood park instead of him and his family simply moving to a more secured place for 73 days, till election day? THAT would have been a selfless act, an act signaling that he is thinking of others, not himself; something he – and his running mate – seem incapable of doing.

Then I read the weekly summary of the daily meditations from Father Richard Rohr, including one authored by a Native American Episcopal priest highlighting the value of ancestors:

https://cac.org/daily-meditations/ancestors-and-wisdom/

In reading this, it brought tears to my eyes as I remembered some of my own ancestors’ loving care of our familia. Of course, I also remembered the pain cost by other ancestors because of their self centered, selfish ways. And thus one of our major challenges: Understanding where we come from, being proud of our heritage, and criticizing its errors and working to correct them. Always with joy, always looking forward to a brighter future. 

Today I choose the joy of meditating on goodness rather than darkness. I am not forgetting the darkness of the past. Never forget! But I refuse to be shackled by the venom of hate, the misguided language of wrongful appropriation of selective Christianity, or the misplaced nationalistic, limited, small use of the word ‘patriotism’. 

It is the hopeful joy of the future that keeps me going. It is the hope that my grandchildren will grow in freedom, be joyful, be centered in a compassionate faith, and care for each other, their friends, familia, neighbors, community, and Mother Earth.

Thus I turned to music 🙂 “Teach your children well”. (I hope they update this version to reflect this week’s happening 🙂 )

https://youtu.be/dQOaUnSmJr8?si=-P8HqMJ3GIhN6GGZ

To Coach Walz, I say: “Put me in Coach!”

https://youtu.be/JaG7ENoIuDE?si=WIHzeZz79cyF6CAi

And to our future Madam President Kamala Harris: Freedom!

https://youtu.be/yh91lO-PU0o?si=uhm1DbwtTZbL8kwU

(Listen to the end 🙂 )

And: Just for fun, a totally ‘feel good’ video – more Freedom (from Jon Batiste):

https://youtu.be/3YHVC1DcHmo?si=MJCxpIPJjQTKsMxe

And yep: I will do my part so that this November we elect two folks whose values align with ours; two folks that while imperfect and with whom I disagree on certain core issues, I am highly confident can lead us in a democratic way, a way that engages the common folks in exta-ordinary – and yes, joyful – ways.

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.