Archive for the ‘Seattle’ Tag

Human Habitat is more than Air, Water and Shelter. It is a Place for Our Souls.   Leave a comment

gye-nyame1.jpgWhile reading my VONA girl’s piece ( I started reflecting on the changes to the most diverse zip code in the country. My neighborhood!

l live on Beacon Hill in South Seattle. For a while I’ve joked that I can’t wait for gentrification to make it here so we can get car2go, a bus that runs every 10 minutes like it does in the renamed neighborhood up the street and a cup of coffee while I sit in a cafe.

Now that gentrification is getting closer,  I feel like a Black Paul Revere, yelling, “The British are coming.”  Just so we are clear, I am talking about culture, not race. For the 11 years I have lived on south Beacon Hill, the white, Black, Vietnamese, Chinese, Latino and East African neighbors greet each other on the streets. Our smiles are one language. Our neighborhood is Seattle’s diversity! Over the last few years it has been touted as the most diverse in the nation. REPRESENT 98118 we say sporting bumper stickers and T-shirts! Famed writer, Nancy Rawles led a project to celebrate who we are. The total number of languages spoken here gives us census rating clout.

Behind it, few know that this western refuge of the United States holds the lines of prejudice and systemic racism that carved inequality into the fabric of this land. Called RED LINING it is a root in our current disenfranchisement and wonderful diversity. Our neighborhood was the only place non-whites were allowed to live because of the RESTRICTIVE HOUSING COVENANTS (  in Seattle that blocked our access to cleaner air, parks and interracial habitat.

Now that more people are leaving the newly unaffordable neighborhoods that were historically segregated by white supremacists, people act like they have been forced to move into the neighborhood that is the last affordable refuge. Now fewer conversations take place at the bus stop. Fewer hellos and nods that Black people offer each other to say, “yes, I see you in a world where we are made invisible.” In fact, many of our neighbors who speak ENGLISH ONLY are reticent even when greeted with the word “hello.” Their silent response and averted eyes seems so strange in a neighborhood of nods that are understood despite language barriers.

The cost of a latte is too high when it means the culture of our souls disappears in the foam.


I CAN’T BREATHE   1 comment

Laying on the ground last night, I looked up at the star above Macy’s, a replica of the invisible. We could see no stars except that one above us in the Seattle sky.

Tears streamed onto the wet asphalt, as we lay in the intersection, chanting I can’t breathe, until we stopped.

I write about intersections. Laying face up with a hundred or so people at the intersection of 4th and Pine, I felt a crushing, I felt it again, but it was not in my chest, though I thought, about Eric Garner’s last moments, imagined others, the crushing was in my heart/mind. Is that the same as spirit? I can’t breathe. Saying those words over and over again, imagining, knowing it did not matter…does not matter to the system that crushes us was not a new feeling. It was the feeling I had last week…even before Ferguson. I had it when I read about a “victory” for the Environmental Justice movement.

The image of the Chevron refinery in Richmond, CA triggered a despair that I have not been able to overcome. It took me back to Sunday visits to my Aunt D.’s house across the street from the Arco refinery in Philadelphia. The image clutched my chest and my childhood in its’ acrid grimy fist and my tears and sobbing began before I could suck it back in and make it stop. I had to make it stop. I was on deadline. I was writing something that I thought would “save the world.” I am a child of the generation that was taught we could do that. It was not a grand idea. It was possible. I was raised to believe it was possible. So, I have worked for it these days of my life. But, in the moment that I saw that photo, it stopped being possible. My mind/spirit was crushed like a windpipe. I thought of my cousin who has 4th stage cancer , her sister who died of lung cancer just two years ago, before she turned 50, their brother who died with his head in refrigerator trying to get a cool breath because he could not afford a new asthma inhaler,  their father, Cherokee, who died of heart disease which is related to the air we breathe.

It was the “victory” that accompanied the image that devastated my belief in “saving the world.” Money was the victory. A portion of the money collected from the polluter. Although it was acknowledged to be “woefully” little, it was a victory. Can money bring back the dead? Can it dry the tears of my 92 year old aunt or her 94 year old sister who watched her children die when they were in their 30’s and 40’s?

Violence has more than one fist. Brutality is cumulative. I know everyday that my life is shortened by the pain I feel because of racism. They call it stress. They can measure it as stress. Quantify the result of too much cortisol. The constant fight or flight, we live with. HANDS UP, DON’T SHOOT.  On a cold day, keep your hands out of your pockets.

I can’t breathe. I surface like the Orcas, trying to get a breath. Like my cousin, trying to get a breath. I can’t breathe, my spirit is suffocating. A pregnant Orca from the endangered Southern Resident pod was found dead. Only 77 non-human beings on the endangered species list of these Southern “Killer” Whales.

I see the connection. We are dying in plain sight. We are being killed by corruption. We know our lives matter. We have families. They are threatened by extinction. I can’t breathe. I ask R U An Endangered Species?™ Find Out.