Other people
This has been a day with too many other people in it. It’s another spectacular as-if-spring day, got up to 51°F this afternoon, the jungle is outdoors and humming to itself*, the sky is sunny and clear, out of town there are skylarks over every field as thick as house sparrows back in the days before house sparrows became endangered too** . . . and half the population of southern England trooping over the Hampshire landscape. Too many skylarks is welcome. Too many mobs of Homo sapiens is not. It’s true that I’m a misanthropic crank, but people in groups way too often become a practical case study in Othering. There’s a certain kind of organised group that is a jewel in the crown and reminds me why the British are/were notorious for politeness: the Ramblers** often produce this kind***. And of course there are lots of nice friendly polite miscellaneous groups of walkers whose dogs and children are under control. But I seemed to meet mostly the other kind today. Gaaaah. And these are the people who look at you as if you’re intruding on their space and bothering their dogs, because to them you are. You’re not them. You’re Other.
I came home snarling and ran full tilt into a big local garden opening, with attendant flocks and clusters of visitors, all moving at a it’s-a-beautiful-day strolling amble and mostly strung out across the street with no inclination whatsoever to move–because I was in their space too†. So having eventually penetrated this mêleé–nudging people aside like driving through a herd of sheep: the looks of outrage are similar too–parked Wolfgang and prevented the hellhounds from making any new friends††, I stomped out to my tiny garden at the cottage and started hoicking up celandine which is always suddenly everywhere about this time of year, and contemplated my atoll. You know, the one with perfect weather and perfect uninhabitedness††† and the perfect ferry arriving once a week with perfect supplies‡.
And so, speaking of Othering and that one of the reasons I would never make a public figure is because there are too many other people involved‡‡: There was an article in the Guardian a few days ago entitled: ‘When he fails, he will be a black man failing’.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/feb/16/barack-obama-election-race
The headline on the front page to make you flip through to look for it was: ‘Why the Obama presidency fills me with fear’. It’s by Hannah Poole, who writes a lot for the Guardian, and I usually read whatever it is, because she’s a good journalist and a classy writer. She’s also black and was raised by white parents. ‘When he fails–and he will fail, because he’s human–he will be a black man failing.’ I’m sure everyone who wants him to succeed is worrying about this: that not only has he inherited what may be one of the biggest messes not only for Homo sapiens but for the planet since the first amoeba stood up on its hind pseudopods so it could carry more alga home in its fore pseudopods, but he has to do it as the first black/dual heritage/anything but pure lily white‡‡‡ American president ever. Yes.
But in with all the good sense and thoughtful prose and awareness of an intelligent human being writing about an issue that means a lot to her, I have two buts to but. The first one is, yes, we live in an appallingly racist society, and the first nonwhite president is going to get it in the chops oftener and harder than another white boy would, because he is Other . . . but would you rather Obama hadn’t got elected?§ Maybe a first black president in twenty or fifty years would have had a slightly easier time of it. But maybe the second nonwhite president in twenty or fifty years will have an easier time because of Obama. Since we have Obama–since he was willing to run and to risk being the first–can we please remember to be happy about it?
And my second but: ‘Perhaps my unease is best explained by looking at the coverage of Obama we’ve already had . . . listening to commentators marvel at how articulate Obama is (what they mean is articulate “for a black man” . . .’ Uh, wait a frelling minute here! How about articulate after the witless buffoon we’ve tried not to listen to for the last eight years?!?
http://www.politicalbase.com/profile/Mark%20Nickolas/blog/&blogId=6233
(I’m of course sitting here thinking, okay, why is it only tenth grade? Aren’t we all grown ups here? How many ninth graders pay close attention to presidential press conferences? I’d say only the fast-track early-acceptance most-likely-to-succeed geeks, and they know more words than any of us anyway.§§ But the point is still a good one.)
PS: Did you know that said witless buffoon has been voted only seventh worst president? As Lucy Mangan says in the Guardian, we want to know who voted for the other six. http://www.c-span.org/PresidentialSurvey/Overall-Ranking.aspx
* * *
* Although some of the humming is the first bumblebee I’ve seen this year. Hurrah for bumblebees, which are endangered, and just by the way cute and furry and astonishingly mild-mannered and also astonishingly large.
* I think I’ve told you that Hampshire is doing extremely well on the conservation front in at least three areas: skylarks, brown hares, and English bluebells. And at least we have bumblebees.
** http://www.ramblers.org.uk/ There are a lot of Ramblers around here. Like skylarks.
*** Even if a large party of beautifully kitted-out walkers makes me giggle, me in my beat-up All Stars and muddy jeans. It’s even a bit mysterious to me that I’m not more into walkers’ kit than I am: usually kit is half the fun. But I’m not. Although I’d kill for a good pair of comfortable, flexible, lightweight, waterproof walking shoes that actually fit me ^ and if I found them that might open the dangerous door to specialised sports equipment so maybe I’d better just keep buying All-Stars. And skin recovery cream for my wet muddy feet.
^ I don’t want much, do I?
† And of course running over people in your car is overreacting and furthermore I don’t like blood and screaming or getting arrested
†† Hellhounds are such optimists
††† This is where it all falls apart. Peter wants to play bridge. That’s three more people. I want to ring bells. That’s at least five other people, plus a bell tower.
‡ Yes, I see lots of room for error and mishap too. WHAT NO GREEN & BLACK’S THIS WEEK??????
‡‡ No I’m not. I’m a professional writer who keeps a blog. And you don’t count as other people. You’re readers.
‡‡‡ Dual heritage is her phrase. She also says this: ‘. . . suddenly the debate seemed to be about whether or not Obama was “really black” . . . and by claiming him . . . black people were accused of “denying his white side.” Please. No one is denying him anything, but let’s be realistic: it’s not the fact that Obama has a white mother that has made his presidency such a historically astonishing event.’ No argument. But I’m one of the people who worry about ‘black’ as opposed to ‘white’ because it’s still about Othering. It’s about Us and Them. If we only call him black we’re missing a trick. I’m not saying we don’t live in an appallingly racist society and I’m depressed but not the least surprised at the stories Obama tells about being black in America, which means having any discernable trace of nonwhite blood because this is a racist society. I’m saying can we please grab this chance with both hands to start experimenting with the idea that you don’t have to be one or the other?
§ I’ve pretty much stopped having wistful Hillary thoughts. We’ve got what we’ve got, and he’s bright and motivated and a hell of a hard worker and I’m just concentrating on keeping my fingers, legs, hellhounds, chopsticks, All-Stars laces, etc, crossed for good luck: http://www.theweek.com/article/index/93167/Barack_Obama_A_rocky_start etc
§ Obama was probably one of them. I aspired to being one–although my pretence-of-normality thing was horses rather than basketball–but I didn’t really make the cut.
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