Tag Archives: racism

I Woke Up Angry This Morning

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I woke up angry this morning. Angry at the cruelty, and blatant racism, sexism, misogyny, and deceit playing out in front of us; angry at the people who seem to be fine with all of that; angry at the people who talk about “leftist extremism” while brushing off January 6th as a “rally” and ignoring the violence being done to children and other innocent people because they “look guilty” and happen to live in the wrong parts of towns in blue states; angry at an administration which seems to take delight in inciting violence and hate towards states and people it views as its “enemies”; angry at the federal agents who say “f***” the children and “now go home or you’re next”; angry at bullies; angry at the people who applaud the bullies; angry at the “friends” who have tried to guilt me into silence by calling me a “pot stirrer” when I’ve provided information counter to their political views; and maybe I woke up angry at myself, too, for feeling powerless to make the cruelty stop.

And so that’s how I left our house this morning – angry and grumpy.

We needed to go to Sedro-Woolley to run an errand, and, afterwards, ended up at a coffee shop for drinks and treats. After a while, when we still hadn’t gotten our order, I began to feel impatient and asked the baristas if maybe they’d forgotten us. We got our drinks soon afterwards.

Another customer had come in after us. She waited patiently at another table. She never asked if she’d been forgotten. She never looked agitated or perturbed. She quietly sat at her table, swinging one leg while she waited for her coffee. She had on the coolest rubber boots – she’d rolled them down at the top and there was this cool salmon-pattern revealed on the rolled-down parts. I had to ask her about them.

She told me the pattern was designed by the “Salmon Sisters” in Alaska. She’d lived in Alaska for a while, she said. I learned then that she’d worked for NOAA as a marine biologist, and now worked for the Washington Dept. of Fish and Wildlife. I told her my brother was a marine biologist, too, and had worked for NOAA for a time, and then another government agency, and had ended his career working for the State. We talked about fishing for a while – she told me something I hadn’t known – that if there isn’t enough fishing allowed, the fish population will exceed what the rivers supply in food, and the salmon population will begin to die out. She was interesting. And kind. She was interesting and kind and patient. And, when she finally got her order and was ready to leave, I thanked her for modeling kindness to me this morning. I told her I’d come in to the coffee shop feeling grumpy – which isn’t my usual self – and she’d helped bring me back to myself again. She smiled and thanked ME – which is, of course, what a kind person does.

Meeting my new friend reminded me of one of the most essential lessons life has taught me – that as long as we can love and show kindness to the people we encounter every day, we aren’t powerless – we CAN make a difference. Just like my new friend did for me this morning.

I’m still angry about the cruelty I see in our world. Maybe it’s right to be angry about that. But I don’t feel so powerless, anymore.

Why Do Hobbits Live in Her Shoe?

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She was trying to understand the unfathomable –
trying to find a reason and cause for the hate and insanity
the greed and racism, willful ignorance and inanity.
And finally she realized she was looking at it upside-down:
Trying to find a source for a story that’s not true
is like trying to find the reason fairies exist
or hobbits live in her shoe;
It’s like asking why Road Runner and Wiley Coyote
are always in a fight;
It’s like trying to find the source for darkness
instead of turning on a light.
– Karen Molenaar Terrell

(Photo by NASA.)

Where Does That Hate Come From?

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(I stumbled upon this old post from 2016 and thought it would work well in 2025, too.)

About once a week I walk into town to buy a hummus roasted veggie sandwich and to see my friend, Frank, who works at the sandwich place. Frank is gay. We’ve never talked about his gayness or my not-gayness or anyone’s whatever-ness in conversation – I mean – it’s not like people usually approach a new friend, shake hands, and introduce themselves by their labels – “Hi, I’m Karen and I’m a progressive bleeding heart liberal heterosexual female Christian Scientist of mostly European ancestry (although there might be some Basque Reptile Alien in there, too) – and how about you? What are your labels?” – but, yeah, Frank is gay. This week when Frank asked me how I was, I gave the usual, “I’m good. And how about you?” And he gave the usual, “I’m good.” But this time something made me stop and really look at Frank. And I asked, “Frank, how are you really?” Frank said it had been a rough week.

He said he’d been in a bar earlier in the week, and he’d heard people at the next table over saying – in deliberately loud voices so Frank could hear – “Yeah. Those people in Florida deserved it.” Frank had tried to remain civil to them – he and the bar-tender had had their own conversation – loud enough to be heard – about the terribleness of the tragedy. And the people at the next table spewed out some more hatred. And Frank wondered about them: Hadn’t they ever been targeted for being different in some way? Didn’t they know what that felt like?

I started tearing up. “Frank, where does that hate come from? I don’t understand it.” Frank shook his head sadly, and said he thought it came from ignorance – from people being afraid of what they don’t know. He said he leaves those people in the hands of the Lord – and he didn’t mean that in a vengeful way – but in a “God will help them” way.

I told Frank that I was with him. I told him that he wasn’t alone. And he thanked me and gave me a hug.

Later on I was thinking about what Frank had said – his wondering if those people had ever been targeted for being different – and it made me remember a time, years ago, when I’d been watching a local “town meeting” on television and I’d heard someone say that “All Christian Scientists should be lined up against a wall and shot.” It had been strange and disturbing to hear someone who didn’t know me wish me dead. It stuck with me. I learned something from that.

Anyone could become a target – hatred is a form of insanity, really, and it doesn’t have to make sense – maybe tomorrow it will be stubby people, or extra tall people, or people with green eyes, or left-handed people, who will become the targets.

I think when we take the time to get to know each other – to try to understand each other without judgment or condemnation – to listen to each other – when we take the time to get rid of our own ignorance – we are doing a lot to make the world a better place. It’s been said so many times, but I think it’s true: Love really IS the answer.

January 6: What I Saw on that Day and What I See Now

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Dear friend,

It’s interesting to hear your perspective on things. It’s good to hear that you oppose the violence of January 6th – and I assume you oppose any talk of future violence, too. A violent Civil War wouldn’t be helpful to our country, would it?

Lies have been spread from right-wing news sources that people who “pretended to be Trump supporters” were part of the insurrection that day, but there has been no actual evidence of this.

What I saw in live time, from my chair in front of the television, was a mob of people, crashing over the barricades into the capitol, attacking the capitol police, filling the halls of our capitol building with uncontrolled rage and hate. What I saw was a noose set up for VP Pence because he wouldn’t go along with Donald Trump’s plan to discount the legal votes of the more than 81 million people who voted for Biden. What I saw was Donald Trump spurring these insurrectionists on with phrases like “We fight like hell. And if you don’t fight like hell, you’re not going to have a country anymore.” As the legislators were fleeing for their lives, and the capitol police were heroically defending our capitol against great odds, and against stun guns, pepper spray, baseball bats, and flagpoles – I did NOT see Donald Trump calling in the National Guard to stop the insurrection. The insurrection went on for hours before the National Guard appeared. That is not acceptable. That does not show presidential leadership. That does not show integrity.

When I listen to Donald Trump I hear him disparaging women, the disabled, and refugees and immigrants to this country. His words are full of hate. Just last night he made fun of Nikki Haley’s dress when she spoke to her followers after the New Hampshire primary. Why would any presidential candidate stoop so low as to make fun of a woman’s dress?! It’s mean. It’s unkind. It is not presidential. He talks about the migrants who come to this country through the southern border as “poisoning the blood of America” and “destroying the blood of our country” and “destroying the fabric of our country.” As a teacher who worked with children who’d migrated from Mexico, I find his words deeply disturbing. My students were hard-working, wanting to learn, wanting to excel, wanting to give back to this country. They were not “poisoning” our country. I am the grandchild of immigrants from Europe. My grandparents came to this country to make a better life for themselves and their children. And that is why my students “from the southern borders” came to this country, too. Note that Donald Trump doesn’t use disparaging words against my white grandparents. He reserves those comments for the people who come through the southern border. He appears, to me, to be a racist.

Karen

Right Now I’m Just Right

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Aunt Junie told me she’d heard these words once in a CS lecture:
“It is never too little; too much; too late; or too soon.”
And now, as I wake in the middle of the night, these words dance
in my thoughts as I gaze up at the moon.

I am never too old or too young,
too heavy or too thin,
with too little time or too much
to do what Love needs me to do,
or to feel the power of Love’s touch.

I’m neither too rich or too poor,
too masculine or too feminine,
too dark-skinned or too light
to be the perfect expression of Good
right NOW I’m just right.

-Karen Molenaar Terrell

An alpine butterfly flits among the flowers on Table Mountain. Photo by Karen Molenaar Terrell.


“Unarmed Truth and Unconditional Love”

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“I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant.”
– Martin Luther King, Jr. 

Years ago, when I was a teenager maybe, I remember seeing a Star Trek episode that showed a man who was half-black and half-white in a struggle with another man who was half-black and half-white – they were enemies because of their color – and I remember looking at them, thinking, “But… they’re BOTH half-black and half-white… what’s the issue here?” And at the end of the episode we finally see that the reason they’re enemies is because one of them is white on the right side of his body, and the other is white on the left side of his body, and… yeah… I remember thinking how absolutely ridiculous it all was for them to hate each other just because they were colored differently on different sides. But it is, of course, no more ridiculous than hating someone just because they’re all ONE color, and that color is different than ours.

The summer after I graduated from high school – which was about ten years after the Watts Riots –  I traveled with my dad to California. Dad had grown up in Los Angeles, and he wanted to revisit his old neighborhood and see his childhood home once again. As we drove the streets to his old home, I noticed that we were the only white faces in a several-mile radius.

Dad pulled up in front of a little house, and his face lit up – “This was my home!” he said, getting out of the car. I followed him to the front door, where an African-American woman wearing a house-dress and a really surprised look on her face, appeared. Dad explained that he’d grown up in this house and asked if he could come in and take a look around and go out into the backyard where he’d played as a child. The woman smiled graciously and opened her door for us and allowed us into her home. I followed Dad through the house and out into the backyard where there was still the avocado tree he remembered from his childhood. He looked around, said it seemed smaller than he’d remembered it, and started talking about the happy years he’d spent in this yard as a child. Then he went back through the house, shook the woman’s hand, and thanked her for letting him re-visit his old home. Still looking kind of surprised to find these friendly White people traipsing through her house, she smiled back at dad, and told him he was welcome and it was no problem at all.

A block or so later Dad pulled into a gas station to fill the tank up, and a Black attendant came out to help us (this was in the days before people filled up their own cars with gas). He had that same surprised look on his face as the woman in Dad’s old house. He smiled, and filled up our tank for us, and, as we were ready to leave, said in a friendly way, a big smile on his face, “Come back again!”

Every time I think of this trip through that neighborhood in Los Angeles I start grinning. I’m pretty sure we were the only White people in years who’d come nonchalantly driving through that section of Los Angeles. I remember the surprised hospitality of the gas station attendant and the woman living in Dad’s old house, and it fills me up with a kind of joy. I remember my dad – totally oblivious to the fact that he was in a part of Los Angeles that most White people might find threatening – happily traveling down “Memory Lane,” shaking hands with the woman in his old house, greeting the gas station attendant with an open, natural smile – and it makes me really proud to be his daughter.

I am, likewise, proud to be my mother’s daughter. When I was a little girl – maybe eight or so – Mom took my little brothers and me shopping at the local mall. As we were looking at clothes a young African-American family walked by, also shopping. A large middle-aged White man standing near us turned to Mom and said something like, “Those people should stay in their own part of town.” My mom looked up at him, puzzled – she didn’t know what he was talking about at first. He pointed to the African-American family and repeated what he’d said. When my mom finally understood what he was talking about her face turned red with indignation. She looked up at him from her height of 5’2″ and, her voice shaking with emotion, said, “That family has as much right to be here as you or me! We are all God’s children!” The White man realized then that he’d picked the wrong person to share his racism with, and sort of stepped back and disappeared from the store.

I’m really grateful to have been raised by parents for whom  the color of people’s skin was a  non-issue, and kindness towards everyone was considered natural and normal.

Thou to whose power our hope we give,
Free us from human strife.
Fed by Thy love divine we live,
For Love alone is Life;
And life most sweet, as heart to heart
speaks kindly when we meet and part.
– Mary Baker Eddy

“The time is always right to do what is right.” 
– Martin Luther King, Jr. 

(Originally published in 2017.)

Being White Is Not an Achievement

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So, on my walk yesterday, I saw a man wearing a t-shirt that said: “PROUD WHITE BOY.” I’m not going to describe the physicality of this man – other than to say that, obviously, he was White.

But his shirt got me to wondering. Was he proud because he was White? Was he proud because he was a “boy”? And… why would he be proud of things he has no control over? It’s like being proud of being human, or being proud of being born in this country. Being born here, and being born White, and being born male are not things that anybody has to earn. They are not achievements. They are not proof of your courage or evidence of your hard work. They are just the happenstances of your start in life – a part of earth’s crap shoot. And there’s no reason, in my mind, to be proud – or ashamed, either – of the happenstances of your human start.

It’s what comes after your start – the life you build here – that shows the most important things about you: Are you living a life of kindness? Of moral courage? Do you stand up for others? Are you generous with the good Life gives you? Are you honest? Are you living a life of integrity? Are you using your talents and gifts to make the world a better place? To me, those are the things that matter.

A t-shirt that says “PROUD TO BE KIND” would make more sense to me. Or maybe “PROUD TO BE HUMBLE.” 🙂

“…the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such there is no law.”
-Galatians 5:22-23

I Taught History for Two Decades…

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“Covering iniquity will prevent prosperity and the ultimate triumph of any cause. Ignorance of the error to be eradicated oftentimes subjects you to its abuse.”
-Mary Baker Eddy

I taught history for two decades. My students learned about the Holocaust, slavery, the Trail of Tears, attacks against Chinese railroad workers and miners, the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, the internment of Japanese-Americans during World War II, and the killing of Charlie Howard. They watched “The Grapes of Wrath” and learned about the struggles and inequity the poor faced during the Great Depression. They learned about the Constitution – about their rights and the rights of others. They practiced being lawyers defending clients against injustice. They created their own presidential candidates out of construction paper and words, and learned about the qualifications their candidates would need to run for president. My students learned about heroes in history, too – they learned about Georgio Perlasca, Irena Sendler, Oskar Schindler, Ghandi, Dorothea Dix, Clara Barton, Susan Anthony, Harriet Tubman, and the unheralded acts of kindness “common” people showed to others during times of challenge and struggle.

My students learned about these things and people to help give them tools to be heroes themselves one day.

To force teachers to skip over the ugly parts of history – injustice, inequity, racism, political and corporate greed and dishonesty – is not a help to our world, our country, or our students. It is not preparing our young people for the challenges they and/or their friends will be facing in their lives or helping to create the heroes our world so desperately needs.
-Karen Molenaar Terrell

“The history of our country, like all history, illustrates the might of Mind, and shows human power to be proportionate to its embodiment of right thinking.”
-Mary Baker Eddy

Response to Friends Who Talk About Rioting

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A couple of my Facebook friends have talked about the rioting and violence that have occurred concurrently with some of the Black Lives Matter protests. I’ve been responding individually to their comments, but I thought it might save me time if I just did a copy and paste of my last response to a friend and saved it here:

Yeah. I hear you. CHOP in Seattle was a mess – I ain’t going to disagree with you there. But… if you scroll down my wall you’ll see an interesting post about who’s actually been causing the mayhem – and, according to a story in the Washington Post, it is apparently not “antifa” – it’s been caused mostly by ‘local hooligans, sometimes gangs, sometimes just individuals that are trying to take advantage of an opportunity.’ According to the article, the alt-right “Boogaloo” movement has played a part in the violence, too.

From my own experience participating in the local BLM rally in Burlington, the only maybe threatening and intimidating element I saw there were the half a dozen Trump supporters standing off to the side with their rifles, self-appointed to “keep the peace.” The actual police officers there – whom I thanked for their support – were very calm and friendly – and the protest was entirely peaceful.

The racism and hate crimes in this country need to end. Now. None of us who are true Americans can allow it to continue for even one more day. And when the bulk of our president’s Fourth of July speech is loaded with division and hate for his own constituents – instead of the compassion and understanding we all sorely need right now – we need to call him on it.
– Karen Molenaar Terrell

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He Underestimated the People

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He underestimated the goodness of the people of this country.
And that was his downfall.
– Karen Molenaar Terrell

(Moon rising over Mount Baker. Photo by Karen Molenaar Terrell._

Moon Over Mount Baker