LISTEN TO ME!

A friend wrote a very impassioned post a few days ago about how her friends seemed to be so very resistant to dealing with the mere fact that racism exists.  I thought about what she said and I even posted a response but sometimes, things just stick in your mind, you know?

There have been a lot of articles written about how deeply in denial a lot of white people are about racism. It makes them uncomfortable to talk about it and they wish we wouldn’t bring it up so much. I mean, after all, none of them are racist, right?

With the exception of some diehard white supremacists, white people as a rule will deny that they are racist even after they have been seen doing or saying something extremely racist.

“That isn’t me,” they protest, “I’m not like that. That isn’t who I am,” they whine, the ink on the page where they called someone the n-word barely dry.

I don’t understand that one. 

I used to think it was because the image of a racist was some guy named Billy Joe Jim Bob who drove a truck with a confederate flag on the back with his dog named Rufus and his gun rack in the back of the cab.

I know now that a whole lot of white folks drive trucks with the flag and their dog and gun rack and they don’t think they are racist at all. (And his name is Will, thank you very much.)

It’s like they suddenly realized that racism exists and that it is more widespread than they believed and now they know it’s bad but don’t seem too willing to do much about it. They don’t want to discuss it because it’s too hard for them.

People just shrugged and said, “It’s just the way it is.”

For years, Black people have protested about their treatment. We were lynched for no real reason other than we were black. Sometimes folks told a lie and that got a man or a boy lynched. People brought their children to watch. They even fixed lunch baskets and posed for pictures with the victims. I still think of the pregnant woman who got lynched. They cut the baby out of her and stomped it to death.

But it’s black people who are violent, right?

We get harsh treatment from the ones who were supposed to protect us. We go to jail in higher numbers even though we are only 12% of the population. Cops were more likely to shoot us because they “fear for their lives,” even when it’s just a little boy with a toy gun.

We get pulled over and fined for minor offenses when white people just get a lecture and are let go. Sometimes we even got killed for them.

But I don’t need to bring up all the injustices because you know it, and you don’t want to hear it anyway, right?

But when we tried to tell other white people about something racist that happened to us personally, we were told it wasn’t true. Officer Bob is a good guy and he wouldn’t do anything wrong. It had to be us. We should have obeyed his every command even if it was wrong. Race had nothing to do with it, we were told.

“That kind of thing doesn’t happen now,” they told us, “it’s 2017. People aren’t like that anymore. I can’t believe it’s still happening. Maybe it’s something else. It’s not always race, you know.”

No one listened to us because it had to be our fault. Racism just wasn’t that big a deal.

Well, listen now because this part is on you.

Remember that friend of yours that said he didn’t like black people?

“Oh, he’s ok. He just has a thing about it, you know.”

Or your Uncle Joe who always told racist jokes and made it a point to say racist things at family get togethers.  He didn’t mean any harm, did he?

And that woman who clutches her purse into her body when black people get too close. It’s not her fault. She got robbed by a black man so she is afraid of all of us now.

How many times did you try to check them? Did you tell your friend that you have black friends and you don’t appreciate his being racist to them? Did you tell him that he’s a racist and that he needs to look into his own heart?

Did you stop Uncle Joe? Did you tell him his jokes aren’t funny and that you don’t want him to say things like that in front of the children because they will soon learn that it’s all right to say those things? Did you tell him that you want your children to treat everyone with dignity and grace and that his behavior is crass and ugly?

Did you remind your friend that black people have far more reasons to be afraid of white people? Did you tell her about the lynchings and the murders that happened for no reason other than the person was a racist and knew he could get away with it?

You didn’t did you? Not ever. You just kept quiet because you didn’t want to make a big deal of it and you didn’t want people to think you were soft or that you are a n-word lover. You still wanted them to think you were a fine upstanding member of the community and you weren’t going to call them on their ugly behavior.

You realize that by always being quiet, you allowed that kind of behavior to persist year after year, person after person. Racism flourishes in the dark, quiet places we don’t want to address. We don’t want to go there, we don’t want to say anything, so we find a way to justify it and hope that everyone moves on.

You try not to acknowledge the hurt you see in your black friends’ eyes. It’s not your fault. You didn’t say anything wrong. We are being too sensitive.

But you didn’t say anything at all. You didn’t defend us and you didn’t try to see why we were hurt.

For years, people like me didn’t say anything either. We swallowed hard – that big lump of racism is hard – and we told our friends and family who shook their heads and shared instances of the same behavior with you. They didn’t tell you that it was all in your head and that Bob is really a good guy. They knew that Bob was a racist and that you were complicit in his racism because you didn’t say anything.

We wanted to stay friends so we just didn’t say anything to you though we never forgot it. We wondered if it was just us or if you weren’t the friend we thought you were. But it stayed with us.

Now you want to say that you are “woke,” too. You are our “allies.” You finally understand where we are coming from. You don’t want to identify with the groups of people in the streets yelling racist chants and you see them calling us names and taunting us openly now. You are offended and appalled and you want it to stop. You act like this is all new.

Maybe for you. Not for us.

You want this to end? It’s on you.

You need to step outside of your comfortable space and try to look at the world through our eyes. Listen to what we tell you. Pay attention to our pain. Hear us when we speak. Don’t get defensive. Don’t say you are being attacked. Yes, it’s uncomfortable but stop and listen to us.

And when you see or hear racist behavior or language, stop it. Don’t assume it’s all right. It’s not.

And now, this pretend president that we are suffering with, he has emboldened the racists so that now we know who they are. When he said racist things, instead of disavowing him, white people rushed to vote for him. “He says the things that I am thinking,” they said.

And then they had the nerve to be shocked when black folks were appalled with them. After all, voting for him meant that you were okay with the offensive things he said, right?

So now the incidences of hate crimes have increased since November. People of color are being openly harassed and everyone is nervous.

People of color aren’t comfortable much of anywhere anymore. More of us are buying guns but you know what that means: Officer Bob/Betty sees you have a gun and suddenly, they “fear for their lives” and you end up dead.

And yes, this is something YOU can help fix.

What is it they said about the terrorists, “if you see something, say something.” Well, these days, the terrorists aren’t immigrants. They are Americans, right here among us, festering in their rage and hatred.

We have to find some way to get past all this. We have to get to know each other and we have to talk to each other and we have to understand what is being said. It’s the only way things can even begin to change. Otherwise we are going to go deeper down the rabbit hole of hatred and I don’t know how we will ever find out way out.

The Grand Tour of the South

I hadn’t been anywhere in a long time. Actually, I hadn’t been traveling much over the past 10 years. I am used to taking off and going here or there to visit family and friends and I had not been doing that much. I missed a good road trip.

My brother and I had gone to Philadelphia once and Savannah, GA twice to visit his son and his family. We’d taken short trips from Chicago to Galesburg to visit friends and family but that was about all. And since I’d been in Florida, I really hadn’t gone anywhere so I was overdue for a trip.

Blountstown, Florida is a nice little town in the Panhandle of Florida. Nothing much happens here and if you don’t have a car, you are really stuck. We lost our car late last year and we had only been going to the doctor either in Tallahassee or Panama City and I was very bored.

Eddie is living in Tucson, Arizona and we hadn’t seen each other in nearly 2 years. He had been diagnosed with multiple myeloma and amyloidosis in 2011 and we had gone though all of his treatment and chemotherapy together in Chicago.  In 2015, we both left Chicago; he went to Tucson and I went to Blountstown.

Eddie also has severe glaucoma and we had to deal with multiple eye surgeries as his doctor was determined to save what sight my brother had left so it had been a long and difficult process for him but he had been a true warrior and went through it all barely complaining.

I was honestly concerned about his health and I wanted to see for myself how he was. He is kind of stoic and will say he is all right even when he is in pain so I wanted to be sure he really was all right. He was pretty much alone out there so I figured a visit was in order. I had never been to Texas so I thought it would be fun to take the bus out there.

Now I don’t have a problem riding the bus. When I was a child, we often took the bus to go to visit family. We took trips from Chicago to Detroit, Washington, D.C., New York but mostly to Vero Beach, Florida, where our grandparents lived.  I loved those trips on Greyhound.

And after I was grown, I still didn’t mind taking bus trips so it wasn’t unusual for me to do it again. Most of my friends and family by then swore they could not do it but I didn’t mind. As long as I had something to read, music and something to drink between stops, I was good.

This was going to be a different route than what I had initially looked at when I was deciding when to go. It would have made sense for the bus to stick close to I-10 and go through Destin, Pensacola, Mobile, New Orleans, Houston, and San Antonio.

Instead, it went to Houston then up to Dallas and then down to El Paso and then Lordsburg, New Mexico and then to Tucson. I was leaving from Panama City, Florida so the trip would take about 2 days. It was a longer trip than I had taken for a while. Usually, my trips were about 24 hours in length. But I was fine with it. I had packed most of what I needed in a handy carryon bag.

Now I am not a person who travels light. I try but I always seem to take too much. I was taking my laptop with me and my backpack to keep with me. My carryon was just a bit too big to go in the overhead bin so I checked my suitcase and kept the rest with me.

I am a senior and I do have some health issues that make some travel a bit tricky for me, so I always request to sit in the front seats and I ask for priority boarding so that I don’t have to wait in line. Usually, the ticket agents are good about it and I get my seat before most of the other people get on the bus. They also check my bag granting it “special handling” which means that when I have to change buses, I don’t have to go get my bag. The baggage people will put it on the bus for me which really helps a lot.

We don’t have a car, but Harmon, my husband, was going to the doctor in Tallahassee the day I planned to leave. I always go with him to the doctor and we get picked up by the local senior transportation service. I asked if I could be dropped off at the bus station in Tallahassee which meant I could get a bus to Panama City sparing me having to get someone to take me to PC. That went smoothly, even though a one way ticket to PC cost me more than I had expected.

I got to the station earlier than I had planned and had to sit there for a few hours waiting for the bus. I hadn’t gotten any cash so I couldn’t get something out of the vending machines and the charging station there didn’t work and I needed to charge my phone so I had to use the one connection they had there.

The bus station closed for an hour or so in the afternoon so we all had to leave the station. There was no place near where we could wait so I went across the street and sat at the bus stop because it was the one place where there was a bench with shade. And yes, it was hot. But it was better than sitting on the ground so I sat there. I was letting my friends and family know where I was and how my trip was going on Facebook.

The bus arrived late but finally, we boarded and took off. I was going to be on the same bus all the way to Houston so I was delighted. The driver was a black woman and she was a really good driver. She made up the lost time and got us to Mobile on time.

I hate it when we get to a station and the restaurant is closed. I figure if buses are going to arrive there all times of night, they should keep something open so that we weary and hungry travelers can get a sandwich or something. I got some cash from an ATM and hit the vending machines and that had to do till we got to Lake Charles.

The stop there was actually a gas station, which I discovered is what many stops are. They had fried chicken and meat pies which I love so I got some and a cup of coffee and that was my breakfast.

I had ridden along pretty much sitting alone all the way to Houston but when I had to get on my new bus, I found it was packed and I had to put my carry on under the bus and tuck my backpack under the seat. It was really uncomfortable. My legs were stiff and I could barely move my knees so each time we had a stop and could get off the bus and stretch, I did. Unfortunately, I had to ride that way all the way through Texas, which was no fun.

I had to change buses in Dallas and that was a trip. There were a few customer service agents whom I called the Seat Nazis. There were some seats reserved for Priority Boarding and they insisted that you pay the $5 for that privilege.

Now Greyhound policies state that if you are elderly or handicapped, you qualify for Priority Boarding and no one had asked me to pay for it.

Not the Seat Nazis. One of them walked through the station yelling at people telling them they couldn’t sit in the Priority section unless they had their ticket stamped Priority. She didn’t want you to sit on the floor and she was clearing folks away.

That bus station was crowded so there wasn’t enough space for anyone to sit down. I went to the ticket counter and paid the $5 and they stamped my ticket Priority all the way to Tucson and also from Tucson all the way home. I felt better about that and the Seat Nazi allowed me to sit peacefully till my bus left.

I got to Tucson as scheduled and got an Uber to take me to my brother’s apartment. His place is small but really nice and very clean. We were glad to see each other. We often sit and talk for hours about political issues, social and racial issues and then we laugh and share family memories. He and I have always been close and we had missed each other. I wanted to go with him for his chemotherapy and talk to his doctors myself.

I decided to spend a few more days with him and I changed my departure from Tuesday to Friday. It wasn’t until that night before that I realized that if I had left that Friday, I would have gotten caught right in the path of Hurricane Harvey who just happened to be visiting Houston about the same time I would have arrived.

I endured a visit from Hurricane Katrina in 2005, and that was about all the time I wanted to spend with a hurricane so I postponed my trip again to the following Wednesday.

I called Greyhound that Monday and asked if leaving would be all right. The person I spoke to had a very heavy accent and was hard to understand and he apparently didn’t want to talk to me so he was trying to hurry me off the phone. He told me that I would be rerouted after I got to Dallas and I asked him again if it would be all right to leave Wednesday and he assured me it would.

Looking back, I wonder if there was some kind of communication gap between us, but I did ask him more than once and he kept saying it would be fine.

Right.

So Wednesday, I showed up at the bus station and the ticket agent told me there were no buses going that way and that I should not travel for a few days. I told him I had called and spoken to someone and he said, well, you will get to Dallas anyway. 

I should have listened to him. But he took my bag, checked it through to Panama City and off I was again, on my way home.

When we got to El Paso, a baggage clerk there told me I could not take my carryon on the bus.  The bus wasn't that crowded so he was just being a jackass. I had only paid for one seat he rudely reminded me and I had to go check my bag. That was going to cost me $15 and I had already paid to change my ticket and I didn’t want to spend any more.

Thankfully, when I went to the ticket agent, I told her what I had been going through and she didn’t charge me to check the second bag. I was not happy about it though.

I have asthma and cigarette smoke really bothers me. I hated having to walk through the cloud of smoke to get in and out of the bus station and having people get back on the bus with their clothes and hair reeking of smoke was making me really sick.

One man got on the bus and asked if he could sit next to me and without thinking I said no. He smelled like the bottom of an ashtray. No way I could have tolerated that! It was bad enough that he sat behind me. But I managed to have the seat all to myself most of the way home, thank God.

When I got to Dallas the next day, my suitcase was not there. Apparently the agent in Tucson had forgotten to put it on the bus. And the customer service agent there in Dallas told me that I could not leave until the next evening. I was going to have to spend the night in Dallas. 

Things were getting worse.

The station was full of people and I was concerned about my missing bag. She suggested I go to a shelter but we both knew that wasn’t a good idea. There were a lot of people stranded there at the station and some of them were either trying to get away from Houston or trying to get there. Many of them were headed for the shelter and it was already nearly full. 

I went outside and looked around and saw several hotels but most looked out of my league. This trip was going to cost me a lot of money.

I went to McDonalds and tried to get on to Priceline and get a bargain on a hotel there and for some reason that didn’t work so I realized the one hotel was the cheapest one so I trudged the 2 blocks and got a room there.

I was exhausted. I hadn’t slept much the night before and I fell into bed and slept a few hours after I let my family and friends know where I was. I had set up a group text with my brothers and nephew and friend and I contacted Harmon and assured them all I was all right.

I got up, went to get something to eat and drink and because I had nothing to sleep in, I bought a few tee shirts and came back and took a shower and passed out again. I looked up a few places intending to go get some Texas barbecue the next day. My hotel room was quiet and comfortable and I got some good rest before I got up, cleaned up and checked out.

Two doors down I saw a little fried chicken place. Nothing fancy - just fried chicken. It had to be good because there was a long line inside so I went in and ordered a couple of pieces and sat down and enjoyed it before I walked over to the bus station.

It was still packed but I got there around 1:30 and my bus wasn’t leaving till 7:30 but I had nowhere else to sit and wait so I did. Thankfully, the Seat Nazi didn’t hassle me and I didn’t have any problems while waiting.  

I asked one of the customer service agents a few times about my bag and one finally took me over to the baggage area and lo and behold, there was my suitcase, tagged and stacked and ready to go on the bus I was going to take. I felt a lot better.

I shouldn’t have. I should have taken my suitcase with me. But no, I was trusting them to get my bag home with me and I left it there. This was Friday afternoon.

I met this wonderful lady who was 75 years old and was still working as a nurse. We sat and talked for hours. She really made the time go by a lot faster. I wished that we had been going in the same direction, but we weren’t.

I had been rerouted through Shreveport, Birmingham and Atlanta. I would change buses there and take another bus that would go south through Georgia and then over to Tallahassee. There, I could wait 8 hours for the bus to Panama City. I said no, I could call my family and they would come get me in Tallahassee. 

I sent Harmon a text and told him that I would not be home until 10 p.m. on Sunday. He spoke to our friend and told her and she said she would be sure to be there to get me.

We got to Shreveport late. We were even later getting to Jackson, Mississippi. We had to wait there and the bus station was locked when we got there. Someone opened the door and the restaurant was closed and there were barely enough seats for us all to sit in. There was nothing for us to do but just stand around and wait. It was awful. The bathroom was disgusting.

We got to Birmingham late as well. We stopped at one place that did have food so we got a good breakfast and of course, we got to Atlanta late. I missed the bus I was supposed to take and guess what? My suitcase was not on the bus.

Now when I got to Dallas, they had issued me a different ticket. I had my luggage tag at that point. I was assured my bag would make the trip so I wasn’t too worried. It did have a luggage tag on it with my name and destination. Actually, I had gotten a different ticket in Tucson, Dallas, Atlanta and Mobile. Somewhere along the line, my luggage tag went MIA.

However, our bus was late arriving in Atlanta and I missed my connection by about half an hour. When I spoke to the ticket agent, she issued a different ticket for me and I was glad because it got me back to the original route and I would get home at 9 a.m. the next day instead of 10 p.m. as I had originally been told.

I checked in with Customer Service again, and I was seated in Priority Boarding. It was at this point that I think I wasn’t given my luggage tag. She again assured me that my bag would go on to Panama City and that I shouldn’t worry. I had checked a second bag but did not trust “special handling” so I kept it close to me.

Two years ago, I took a trip from Chicago to Savannah, GA with my brother and we were seated in Priority Boarding in Atlanta to wait for our transfer to the bus to Savannah.  The way it is supposed to work is that an agent is supposed to let the bus driver know that he has Priority riders and that he is supposed to walk us out to the bus and board us before the rest of the travelers are boarded. 

So we sat there, trusting the agent to get us on the bus.

However, the agent forgot that we were there and did not board us and we ended up having to wait 5 hours for the next bus. We were given a voucher for future travel but we didn’t use it.

So I was leery about being seated there and I spoke to several of the people working in Customer Service so that I would not be forgotten again. They all assured me I would not be forgotten and that they would see to it that I was seated. One even gave me a voucher for a meal which was nice.

The bus was supposed to leave at 11:35 that evening but it was late. We weren’t informed that our bus was late until after midnight and we were told it would be another hour before it arrived. 

I was afraid I would not get home when scheduled and I had already contacted my family to let them know when to expect me. Since my arrival time had been changed so many times, I was worried, but they assured me they would be there whenever I got there.

I went to ask the ticket agent about when another bus would leave in Mobile because I was going to miss the connecting bus. She gave me some kind of silly reply that did not really address my question. I noticed the customer service agent who assured me he would take me to my bus walking off with his meal and when I got back to the Priority Seating area, they were seating people for my bus! No announcement, no one had come to get me, if I hadn’t returned when I did, I would have missed my bus!

I rushed out and told the driver I was to get Priority Boarding and he said no one had told him I was there and he told me to go ahead and get on the bus.

We were very late arriving in Mobile, so once again, I had to sit 6 hours till the next bus. This was Sunday morning and I had been traveling since Wednesday afternoon. 

And no, my bag was not on the bus when I got to Mobile.

I got to Panama City Sunday afternoon about 4:30. Yes, we were late. And what amazed me was that the driver stopped at a convenience store not 5 minutes from the bus station. 

When we got there, I went to get my carryon bag. When we left Mobile, he was the one who insisted I put that bag under the bus and had asked to see the luggage tag on the bag. I showed it to him and he had the bag put on the bus.

But when I got to Panama City, I didn’t see my bag. I asked about my bag because it hadn’t been taken off the bus. 

The driver said it must not have been on the bus and I insisted that it was. It was on the other side of the bus and the driver demanded a luggage tag. I reminded him that he had seen my bag in Mobile and that it was tagged with my destination and name and he allowed me to claim it with my ID.

I asked the ticket agent in Panama City if he had a bag there that had not been claimed. As I said, the bus station there closes for a while in the afternoon and he was ready to leave and didn’t want to take the time to look for my bag.

By then I was tired and frustrated and I just wanted to get my bag and go home. You see, Blountstown is about 40 miles from Panama City and I don’t have a car so I didn’t want to have to ask someone to make a second trip for me to get my second bag.

He was not willing to even listen to me, but said if I didn’t have a luggage tag, he couldn’t look for it. I kept telling him he needed to stop and listen and he did but it was clear he was angry and didn’t want to entertain me. 

He made a half-hearted attempt to look for it but I told him that I had been re-ticketed so many times that I didn’t have a luggage tag anymore. He couldn’t find my name in the system and I realized he wasn’t really going to look for me. I left my name and number and what the bag looked like and asked him to call me.

I have called a few times in the 10 days since I got home. The agent said that things were slowly coming in from that direction and he hoped my bag would still arrive. But in order to fill out a lost suitcase claim, I have to go to Panama City so I will have to make a second trip anyway. So far, my suitcase, marked “Special Handling” is still missing.

To put it briefly, this was a nightmare of a trip. I really do understand about rerouting me because of the hurricane. I know the roads were flooded and that my route would have taken me right through areas that were hit hard with floods and wind. But I still think things could have been handled a lot better.

There were a few bus drivers who just didn’t seem to care that we were late and that we were going to miss connections because of it. That really made me angry. I have been with drivers who hate being late and really do their best to get us there as close to the original time as they can. Not these drivers. They just moseyed along and took longer times at the rest stops and caused a lot of us to miss our next bus.

I wrote a letter to Greyhound after I got home. I don’t expect to hear much from them.

I am not sure if I will take Greyhound again. I think this was the final straw for me.

All I want now is my suitcase.