​On the matter of abortion, I am pro-choice.  I don’t believe the term pro-abortion is valid – that anyone thinks of abortion as a positive goal. Myself, I’ve not had to make the decision, and can’t say for sure what I might have done. There were years that I was not equipped to provide for a child, and neither was I certain that a mixed-race baby would be welcomed into this world, even by adoptive parents. I was raised in a family that loves babies and children, and at some point, I felt that I might raise a child, adjusting other life goals I might have had. Still, I wasn’t tested. I respect women who have chosen to give birth and those who have chosen abortion.
This is where I’m stuck:  one of the main authorities that opposes abortion is the Catholic church, citing “sanctity of life”.  The church historically has been led by men, not meant to live intimately with women; instead, they are supposed to be celibate. They are not meant to father children or to raise them. Therefore, their exposure and understanding of women and children is limited. My mother probably did not want to have 6 children in 7 years, but my parents were good Catholics who did not practice birth control. When my father died, the oldest child was 7 and the youngest 7 months. The priest’s counsel to my mother was “go to mass every morning and read the Bible every night”, not saying how she was to get the older children off to school. With the help of my grandmother and uncle, she raised us, but she suffered, overwhelmed with sorrow and financial difficulties.
During this same time period, there was a crisis of sexual abuse of minors – boys and girls, by priests all over the world. The abuse was hidden for many years, and the offending priests often allowed to continue, even if transferred. The silence allowed the abuse to become widespread. Families who appealed to the church for help – often impoverished, single mother homes with troubled children, are the very ones who the priests found easiest to access and to molest. During the worst years, those children grew up holding their secrets and their shame, resulting in addiction, emotional illness and suicide.  This was the sacred life that was to be saved, only to die in another way, after long suffering and anguish.
Where is the mandate to priests or other faith leaders, or politicians, that says “we as a group, or a society” have to help a baby born into this world, no matter the circumstances?  If life is so precious, why is the child poverty rate in this country so high?  It seems to me that lack of abortion rights leads to more childhood hardship. It seems to me that it’s not really about children at all, but about controlling women and their bodies, and keeping some people from making advancements in life.
 If the definition of viability cannot be completely established or agreed upon, who is the real “authority”?  It’s not in the Bible, nor given to those who interpret the Bible. It’s not in the Constitution, nor given to those who interpret the Constitution. It is possible that some politicians use the issue of abortion to fuel righteous fire in those who seek desperately for some moral certainty in a world of so much uncertainty?  How is it that many oppose covid vaccines on the grounds that they are sovereign over their own bodies – yet oppose abortion rights for others?  And on what grounds should the ultimate “authority” not be the person who is pregnant? 
 
 

​I do not identify as Italian American (although my grandmother’s Blanchette ancestors were originally Blanchetti’s from northern Italy). I have pondered opposing views about replacing Columbus Day with Indigenous People’s Day, as a matter of symbolism and historical record. The two ideas are linked – through Christopher Columbus’s dealings with the native Arawak peoples in the Caribbean, characterized then and now as cruel and horrific. I also understand the rise of Columbus Day as a national holiday relates to oppressive treatment - that of Italian immigrants during the last two centuries – culminating in a mass lynching in New Orleans in 1891.  They did not receive a warm welcome to America; and it is understandable some Italian Americans wished to promote Columbus as a brave explorer, the first European discoverer of the “new world” – a valued contribution, glossing over the negative interactions with the native population.
The main argument about ending a day honoring Columbus rests on a new look at the historical record. Recent scholarship has turned up old documents – from the administrators and priests of the Spanish settlement under Columbus (and his brothers) – with accusations of cruel practices and poor management, which ended up in charges that put him in jail on return to Spain. He was released, eventually, but not welcomed back to the new world.  Yet his actions set the precedent for the colonizing mode of occupying the Americas – enslaving the native people and using them to extract resources such as silver and gold to send back to Europe. On this basis, he does not make a figure to honor on a national basis.
In addition, there are questions of his origins: whether he is actually Italian from Genoa, or something else. Historians and genealogists are on the case to determine if he might have been Portuguese, Catalan, or Ladino – as he communicated primarily in those languages, not Italian or Genoese and, with humble beginnings, was able to marry into Portuguese nobility. They are examining DNA from lines of descendants. The detective work is on!
Beyond this, there is the established fact of the Norse settlement of Newfoundland around 1,000, as well as perhaps other European visitors.
I love Italy! I have Italian American friends and wish them to be acknowledged and appreciated for contributions to this nation. I have Native American friends, too. Their memories are long, and the deserve to have their stories and contributions known and celebrated. As an Irish American, I don’t love St. Patrick’s Day – saints and drunken leprechauns – a day to celebrate cultural heritage, but not a holiday. Perhaps we and the Italian Americans can find a better way to represent ourselves and let the original inhabitants of America have a special day of recognition. 

​I do not identify as Italian American (although my grandmother’s Blanchette ancestors were originally Blanchetti’s from northern Italy). I have pondered opposing views about replacing Columbus Day with Indigenous People’s Day, as a matter of symbolism and historical record. The two ideas are linked – through Christopher Columbus’s dealings with the native Arawak peoples in the Caribbean, characterized then and now as cruel and horrific. I also understand the rise of Columbus Day as a national holiday relates to oppressive treatment - that of Italian immigrants during the last two centuries – culminating in a mass lynching in New Orleans in 1891.  They did not receive a warm welcome to America; and it is understandable some Italian Americans wished to promote Columbus as a brave explorer, the first European discoverer of the “new world” – a valued contribution, glossing over the negative interactions with the native population.
The main argument about ending a day honoring Columbus rests on a new look at the historical record. Recent scholarship has turned up old documents – from the administrators and priests of the Spanish settlement under Columbus (and his brothers) – with accusations of cruel practices and poor management, which ended up in charges that put him in jail on return to Spain. He was released, eventually, but not welcomed back to the new world.  Yet his actions set the precedent for the colonizing mode of occupying the Americas – enslaving the native people and using them to extract resources such as silver and gold to send back to Europe. On this basis, he does not make a figure to honor on a national basis.
In addition, there are questions of his origins: whether he is actually Italian from Genoa, or something else. Historians and genealogists are on the case to determine if he might have been Portuguese, Catalan, or Ladino – as he communicated primarily in those languages, not Italian or Genoese and was able to marry into Portuguese nobility with humble beginnings. They are examining DNA from lines of descendants. The detective work is on!
Beyond this, there is the established fact of the Norse settlement of Newfoundland around 1,000, as well as perhaps other European visitors.
I love Italy! I have Italian American friends and wish them to be acknowledged and appreciated for contributions to this nation. I have Native American friends, too. Their memories are long, and the deserve to have their stories and contributions known and celebrated. As an Irish American, I don’t love St. Patrick’s Day – saints and drunken leprechauns – a day to celebrate cultural heritage, but not a holiday. Perhaps we and the Italian Americans can find a better way to represent ourselves and let the original inhabitants of America have a special day of recognition. 

 
“Erin Go Bragh” – Ireland forever. I’m proud of my Irish heritage – the culture, the history, music and literature, the “craic” – small talk, and a legacy of stubborn persistence. Through genealogy, I discovered my mother’s great grandparents’ emigration in the late 1840’s – 1850’s, during the “Great Hunger”, some call a genocide. Recently, I’ve been pondering how the Irish of Ireland seem to have become increasingly liberal – a gay, half-Indian Prime Minister; same-sex marriage; legalized abortion (by a landslide) – while so many Irish Americans have become conservative.  One reason I’m glad that Joe Biden is running for president is because he represents another version of being Irish in America from so many of the politicians/commentators whose names we hear today: Mike Pence, Mitch McConnell, Sean Hannity, Bill O’Brien, Pat Buchanan, Steve Bannon, Paul Ryan, Brett Kavanaugh, Kellyanne (Fitzpatrick) Conway, Kayleigh McEnany – you get the picture.
 
 I was talking to a friend who is Black and grew up in Boston during the 70’s -- how weird it is that the Boston Irish and Boston African American communities have so much history and experience in common, but had become antagonistic, particularly during the bussing era. The Irish and African Americans essentially shared the same oppressors, the British, and later the White Anglo Saxon Protestants of colonial America.  Under the Penal laws, the Irish were little better off than enslaved people, punished for speaking their native language, practicing their religion, denied education, ability to own land, suffrage, legal rights, dignity. In Ireland, as in early America, the Irish were depicted as brutish, uncivilized, untrustworthy, unintelligent, carnal. Jonathan Swift (of Gulliver’s Travels fame), wrote a caustically funny essay on “The Irish Problem.” The solution? Eat their young, as they had so many babies they couldn’t feed.
 
Noel Ignatiev’s book suggests how the early Irish immigrant lower class found a route to acceptance in this country – at the expense of others and as an unwitting tool for keeping racism in place.  Initially, according to the book, many of the indentured Irish and the free Black people lived, worked, intermarried, and are today probably distant cousins. Laws and practices regarding color-based racism were already in place, to keep lower class laborers from uniting, but the Civil War produced a crisis of conflict and violence. The Irish freedom fighter, Daniel O’Connell, called for the Irish in America to become abolitionists, but instead they rioted against being drafted into the Union Army, while Free Blacks were not. In addition, the Irish and Scots Irish had found a role in enforcement of southern landowner’s rights through slave-patrols, considered the earliest incarnations of policing in the US.  Howard Adams in Prison of Grass, described the cooption of the poor whites as “foot soldiers” or “guard dogs” in keeping white supremacy in place, not an ideal to aspire to, but basically in order to survive and be accepted by a hostile social and economic elite. 
 
Another hard truth, heartbreaking really, that needs to be faced in order to change. An Irish American writer on this subject, Art McDonald concludes the Irish traded their “greenness” for being “white” – the social construct, not anything biological. He says, “Imagine if the Irish [in America] had… formed an alliance with their fellow oppressed workers, the free Blacks of the North,” and “included them in a union movement” against the dominant white culture, which “ruthlessly pitted them against one another.” Things could have gone another way. True, perhaps, America would not be the world-dominating economic powerhouse it is today. But that was never good for all Americans. Doesn't have to be this way - see Joe Biden. And maybe someday there could be Irish Americans for Black Lives Matter.

I don’t like being duped. Do you?  In a personality survey, quest for truth was one of my highest values – over creativity, loyalty, perseverance, etc. One of the benefits of living long enough is to find out what information you learned is valid, and what has been whitewashed, distorted or hidden.  I’m a history and archeology buff, so I’m on the lookout for new developments and perspectives. Or, sometimes, out of the blue, a new truth hits me over the head like a brick – and I have to conclude I’ve been mislead – or lied to. You may call it loss of innocence; I call it awakening – or woke. I’d rather know, than hold on to fantasies.
 
Turns out the Indians (Native Americans) in New England are not all dead or gone. I’ve met many in recent years, and they are definitely alive and real. I grew up in a small town in CT, on the side of a mountain; on the ridge above us was “Metacomet’s Trail” – the name of an old Indian path, we were told. Not much more; and not taught in school. Metacomet, the lore was, had attacked some early English settlers nearby, for no particular reason, except he was a fighter – who was defeated. End of war; end of family; end of Indians. And yet, I’ve met one of his descendents (through his sister’s line). His relatives are still here; I’ve met them and seen their family trees. Others were sold into slavery to the Caribbean; they too are not gone, and remember their heritage. According to that version, he was a Wampanoag leader, son of Massasoit who greeted the Pilgrims in 1620, and was fighting against being pushed off native land. Killed in the war, his body ended up in Plymouth, his head on a pole for 20 years as a warning. Turns out – there are plenty of indigenous people, tax paying voters, who have always lived in New England. In past generations, many kept a low profile – for good reason. Today, look around, there are plenty of ways to see and learn more about our indigenous neighbors, the original residents of this place.
 
Turns out – we had plenty of slavery here in the north, in New England, that I never learned about growing up. It was always a matter of the South being slave-owners, and racist. But slavery was here, and then erased – no one to document and tell the stories. Owning slaves was on a smaller scale – not plantations, but still a fact of life. Yes-- enslaved people helped build and farm this area – allowing greater freedom for their masters. Some New Englander’s profited greatly from the slave trade (especially banking), outfitting ships, and purchasing cotton from the south. Enslaved men in Bedford and Concord, and neighboring towns served in the Revolutionary war.. Some but not all were given their freedom; they are buried in a separate part of the old cemeteries. Perhaps most shocking, to me, was visiting the Isaac Royall house in Medford, maybe 20 minutes from here: to see the old colonial mansion, still standing. And the extensive slave quarters, still standing – mainly because the estate fell into disrepair and no one had money to renovate – or cover it over. Today, it’s open as a museum, and the picture of life for enslaved people who lived there is not very happy.
 
Maybe the worst reality check for me was learning about Frederick Douglass, the great Black abolitionist, and his time on the Eastern Shore. Turns out I lived for about a year in the exact same area as he did, traveling the same roads into the same towns. Only, I had no idea at the time. Not a clue. Never a word, plaque, sign, statue, write-up in the library, etc. that he had been there during a formative time of his life before he escaped.  I was an avid user of the library, and interested in local history: the Quakers, the watermen, the chicken farmers, all that good stuff..  But nothing about Frederick Douglass.  I found out only by accident, in grad school at Harvard, reading “The Narrative of Frederick Douglass” for an American Literature class. He took great risks to his freedom to name names and places. But they did not want to remember him. Today, there is a memorial to him, in Easton, MD, which I have not seen, but understand it came about as result of a student’s research paper, and quest to bring Douglass, a hometown son, some recognition.
 
History is a funny thing – an amalgamation of truths, science, records and documents, interpretation – and manipulation.  At a lecture on WWII navy history some years ago, the presenter was showing slides of recently declassified images of the action in the Pacific – things were going badly; the news was demoralizing, and so hidden. There was an attack on one of the navy ships; several WWII navy men in the audience had been on that ship, during the incident. The historian described what was officially recorded; and the servicemen corrected him. The historian took down notes, and history was rewritten.
 
That’s how it goes with history: often written by the victor, and corrected with time and effort for those who want to set the record straight.

Out of a recent zoom discussion on race and justice, I heard comments from Black men about how they are often perceived as dangerous, and someone to be careful of, especially by white women.  The men who spoke were mature, successful residents or former residents of my town, and their queries were heartfelt and not adequately answered.  I saw a post on Facebook: a Black suburban dad related how he only took a walk around his neighborhood when he had his dog and/or young daughter with him. It’s not new, either. Years ago a Black man wrote about whistling some classical tune when walking alone at night in the city to signal he was not a threat. More recently, I was talking to a vet who is Black about taking a walk around the beautiful grounds of the Veteran’s hospital to spend time in nature. He said he was reluctant to go on his own as a large man of color, because someone might make a phone call and he’d have to deal with uncomfortable questions, at the least. It wasn’t worth it. So much for the peace of nature.
 
I wished I’d spoken up, because I do know better. I learned from life experience when I was a woman in my twenties in the 1980’s living hand to mouth in New York City,. There were a lot of men, all colors, who were willing to make me uncomfortable with unwanted attention. There were also a lot of robberies – purses and wallets.  I was warned – don’t make eye contact, keep your purse strapped around you, cross the sidewalk, all the conventional wisdom.  As a country girl, I thought it was probably right; as a poor girl, I didn’t worry too much, since I didn’t have much to steal.
 
Two young black men on the subway on a quiet Sunday morning taught me a different lesson. I got on the train on the upper west side, near Columbia U, on my way to Penn Station. An express train, with very few stops. Less than a dozen people on the subway car, all of them Black, as I remember, some older people.  I sat on my own, purse strapped around me, a small day bag on my lap. Across were two young black men talking to each other.  I was aware, but not nervous, pretty much looking at ads or down at my lap, no phones back then.
 
After a bit, one of them started talking about me – also not the first time this has happened. “Well, here’s a young lady off on a trip, it looks like.  I wonder where she’s going?” So, I know to ignore them, but one guy doesn’t want to stop. “I bet you’re going some place fun, aren’t you?” he says to me directly -- something like that.  No answer. Then he says it louder. No answer. “Maybe she can’t hear me.” The other guy says, “She can hear you.” Then the first guy says, “What’s wrong with me just being friendly?  How does she know I’m not a nice guy?” Then he gets going. “How come the white girls never say a word to me?  You ever notice that?  It’s like I’m not even there; like I’m invisible, they can’t even see me.” He gets up and crosses in front of me, stooping down to look up into my face. I turn to one side.  He moves into my line of vision. I turn the other way. He’s right in front of me.
I hang my head, refusing to meet his eyes. “Can you see me now?” By now people are noticing, but no one says anything.  But he’s talking to them, too. “How come they have to pretend I’m not there? What, I’m so ugly they can’t even look at me? If I even look at them, they have to move away quick as anything.”
 
He was getting loud; I was getting scared, not that I really thought he’d attack me.  I just wanted it to stop. Of course, he was taking advantage of me being stuck on the car, unable to depart until the next stop.
 
Finally, I looked up – and across the aisle to the other young man, watching all this unfold.  I looked at him in the eyes, and he looked back.  “Leave her be,” he said to his friend, finally. “That’s enough.”  My antagonist sat back down, and I glanced at him, just briefly, but that was it. I got off at the next stop and caught the next train.
 
Point made.
 
That was almost 40 years ago. Now I look people, all people, in the eye as I pass or meet them. It’s different now, of course, me and also the times.  In the end I found it was safer to look someone in the eye, acknowledge their humanity – let them see that I see them – rather than to deprive them of the right to walk as fully human on the streets we share.
 
 
 

2020 –  it’s a bit nerve-wracking – what the year in politics and the election will bring. I’ve decided to share my questions and views – in the hope my friends will understand where I’m coming from – and perhaps do the same.  My goal is to gain pertinent information and to refine my views on the democratic candidates, none of whom are perfect, but all are smart, capable and experienced. I will vote for whoever wins the democratic primary, and work toward greater unity and voter turnout. More later.
 
Mainly, at the moment, I don’t want to see Donald Trump re-elected.  I don’t hate Trump as a person and doubt he has enjoyed much of his time in office. But I also think he hates to lose, and his power base doesn’t want him to lose. He’s been described as an “imperfect vessel” for certain conservative views, and for that he is useful. Initially, I hoped that he might grow into the office, and take on positive, bipartisan initiatives – rebuilding infrastructure; addressing climate problems; refining current health care programs; creating a better types of jobs; a fair, workable immigration system.. But that hasn’t happened. Instead there has been one tempest after another, in which he has been instigator or participant.
 
One reason I want to see Trump out of office is that I don’t like the culture of disrespect that he seems to espouse and encourage, revealed in his actions and his tweets. I find his behavior and communications ill-informed, immature, and sometimes just wrong. To me, the name-calling is unpresidential and embarrassing; not a role model for young people. Simple fact-checking shows that many of his claims are untrue – out of ignorance or denial of the facts. This kind of “freedom of speech” is really just the freedom to disrespect and insult others, bullying really, and not good politics.  He may rally up some followers, but he has alienated minorities, women and foreign officials in this manner. More than that, he has inspired or allowed others to feel empowered to act in the same demeaning ways – or worse.
 
Another reason is Trump’s belief that government should be run on a business model. I don’t agree. “Commonwealth” is not the same as corporation – different purposes.  Aiding businesses, while taking away regulations on environment may create jobs and wealth, for some, but also aggravates climate problems and social inequities.  The fact that people with diabetes may die for lack of money to purchase insulin – in the richest nation on earth – means that health care and insurance as a business model is not working well.  Trump hires and fires at will – not utilizing and appreciating the expertise of long term officials. And his attitude toward the media is anger that they criticize him, and don’t promote him like a good PR agency. Democracy requires consent, not orders from the president, or his associates. But that consent, as in the GOP-led Senate, must be free from intimidation and fear of reprisal from party leadership.
 
A third reason is somewhat impulsive and high-risk decision making that feels destabilzing and at times dangerous. It feels like posturing and gamesmanship when so much is potentially at stake, and there is a disregard for consequences, intended or otherwise. In my mind, it is not statesman-like to bolster relations with leaders who use threats and repression to rule, like Putin and Kim Jung Un; or likewise, to prefer to act unilaterally in making treaties, and to bow out from allies and organizations which are working on urgent global issues like refugees and climate change.
 
Probably the main reason I want Trump out of office – is to be sure elections count and the electorate does its job. The best thing to come out of the 2016 election was a wake-up call – that this can happen: interference in elections, a backlash to Obama and rising power of minorities, nationalism which is anti-globalism. The worst thing is cutting off conversation about real and important matters between friends, family, and fellow citizens. I don’t want to be silenced anymore, and I want others to have freedom to speak up, civilly, respectfully, and without fear.  We need good information, good reasoning, and rules of conduct to address emotion which is stoked by fear and anger.

2020 –  it’s a bit nerve-wracking – what the year in politics and the election will bring. I’ve decided to share my questions and views – in the hope my friends will understand where I’m coming from – and perhaps do the same.  My goal is to gain pertinent information and to refine my views on the democratic candidates, none of whom are perfect, but all are smart, capable and experienced. I will vote for whoever wins the democratic primary, and work toward greater unity and voter turnout. More later.
 
Mainly, at the moment, I don’t want to see Donald Trump re-elected.  I don’t hate Trump as a person and doubt he has enjoyed much of his time in office. But I also think he hates to lose, and his power base doesn’t want him to lose. He’s been described as an “imperfect vessel” for certain conservative views, and for that he is useful. Initially, I hoped that he might grow into the office, and take on positive, bipartisan initiatives – rebuilding infrastructure; addressing climate problems; refining current health care programs; creating a better types of jobs; a fair, workable immigration system.. But that hasn’t happened. Instead there has been one tempest after another, in which he has been instigator or participant.
 
One reason I want to see Trump out of office is that I don’t like the culture of disrespect that he seems to espouse and encourage, revealed in his actions and his tweets. I find his behavior and communications ill-informed, immature, and sometimes just wrong. To me, the name-calling is unpresidential and embarrassing; not a role model for young people. Simple fact-checking shows that many of his claims are untrue – out of ignorance or denial of the facts. This kind of “freedom of speech” is really just the freedom to disrespect and insult others, bullying really, and not good politics.  He may rally up some followers, but he has alienated minorities, women and foreign officials in this manner. More than that, he has inspired or allowed others to feel empowered to act in the same demeaning ways – or worse.
 
Another reason is Trump’s belief that government should be run on a business model. I don’t agree. “Commonwealth” is not the same as corporation – different purposes.  Aiding businesses, while taking away regulations on environment may create jobs and wealth, for some, but also aggravates climate problems and social inequities.  The fact that people with diabetes may die for lack of money to purchase insulin – in the richest nation on earth – means that health care and insurance as a business model is not working well.  Trump hires and fires at will – not utilizing and appreciating the expertise of long term officials. And his attitude toward the media is anger that they criticize him, and don’t promote him like a good PR agency. Democracy requires consent, not orders from the president, or his associates. But that consent, as in the GOP-led Senate, must be free from intimidation and fear of reprisal from party leadership.
 
A third reason is somewhat impulsive and high-risk decision making that feels destabilzing and at times dangerous. It feels like posturing and gamesmanship when so much is potentially at stake, and there is a disregard for consequences, intended or otherwise. In my mind, it is not statesman-like to bolster relations with leaders who use threats and repression to rule, like Putin and Kim Jung Un; or likewise, to prefer to act unilaterally in making treaties, and to bow out from allies and organizations which are working on urgent global issues like refugees and climate change.
 
Probably the main reason I want Trump out of office – is to be sure elections count and the electorate does its job. The best thing to come out of the 2016 election was a wake-up call – that this can happen: interference in elections, a backlash to Obama and rising power of minorities, nationalism which is anti-globalism. The worst thing is cutting off conversation about real and important matters between friends, family, and fellow citizens. I don’t want to be silenced anymore, and I want others to have freedom to speak up, civilly, respectfully, and without fear.  We need good information, good reasoning, and rules of conduct to address emotion which is stoked by fear and anger.
 

When I first read that the White Privilege Symposium was going to be held in nearby Cambridge, MA, I was so excited.  I knew of two of the key note speakers: Robin DiAngelo, whose book “White Fragility” I had recently read; and Yusef Salaam, one of the exonerated “Central Park Five” teens, whose story I knew from the recent mini-series “When They See Us”.  Yet, when I went to the link to register, it wasn’t functioning, and I thought it was already full to capacity. I was disappointed, and quite shocked there was such a strong response. Shortly later, I tried another link that worked, so I signed up right away.  I don’t think I even knew how important this was to me until I thought I was closed out. I had attended an earlier symposium on the Cape – I knew there were other seekers out there. But it was not always so, and it had been, for me, long and sometimes lonely road.
 
At the recent symposium, I attended a number of workshops to learn and interact with others.  For some of the participants, it was overwhelming and disturbing to become aware of the history and extent of systemic racism. But for me, I was eager to talk to others on this journey I’d been on without the history and language to truly understand it.  From my earlier life experiences, including interactions with people of color, I knew something was wrong. There was a dissonance between the ideas of democracy, justice, meritocracy and pursuit of the American dream and what I had observed myself, that I could not explain.  I had experienced white privilege, saw how it worked: pulled over in a car with my Hispanic boyfriend, when there was no violation; going out to clubs in NYC with friends of color, who always wanted me to hail the cab; witnessing a Puerto Rican co-worker followed around in a shoe shop. There was something going on.
 
Later, in grad school, I heard Peggy McIntosh describe the “Invisible Backpack of White Privilege,” so I found there was a name for it.  Also in grad school, I had a smack to the head experience reading “Narrative of a Slave” by Frederick Douglass. Earlier, I’d spent a year in Easton, MD, site of Douglass’s birth and early enslavement, without a clue that he had ever been there. No tribute, no plaque - hidden away.  I felt duped.  And then of course, I began to realize if this erasure of true history was going on in one place, why not others? 
 
What I have found out, since piecing things together about the true history of this nation is not a pretty picture. But I’d rather have the truth.  The true story will help credit the survival of blacks, Hispanics and indigenous peoples in spite of laws and violence that held white supremacy in place.  The true story will help white people see more clearly the cost of advantages that accrue from competition that has been unfairly narrowed and which really only rewards those at the top who must isolate themselves from the masses and their own humanity.  
 
It’s hard for whites to talk about race because it’s a hard history to face, and because it challenges our sense of identity, and the way to prosperity, if we come to realize that the pillars of our democracy were built on the stolen land of Indians and the stolen labor of black people. No matter how hard our white immigrant ancestors worked, it doesn’t change that reality.  But blame and shame are not helpful ways for white people today to respond to past history.  We do need ways to talk, to share experiences, and to make changes in history books, in language, and in economic and social policies.  The truth will out. It’s coming out already, in genetics, in family history research, in new discoveries in history and archeology.  We can’t force change, but we can’t deny what is increasingly real. No putting the genie back in the bottle.
 
I can’t say I love talking about race – it’s awkward, mistake-prone, and sometimes hurts my stomach. It was hard to hear a black man say he wished that white people in the north would put a sign on their house or wear a tee shirt that said, “I don’t want to deal with black people.”  It would be easier for him to know what to expect. But I’m trying, I’m learning, I’m questioning and speaking up. It’s easy to lose trust in our institutions – education, politics, the church; but addressing  white supremacy has given a sense of reality and major purpose to my life. And I’m glad I’m not alone.

Thank you all for coming, thank you to those who’ve helped with my book and with the launch. And thank you especially to Mindy. I’m here tonight, only because of Mindy.  She approached me at the high school musical Fiddler on the Roof – and invited me to join her as the “bonus author” for this event, knowing that I had been struggling to finish my book about a year behind schedule, following a rather trying and difficult year.  It was such a boost for me, to be part of this, to share the excitement and enthusiasm, and to observe how Mindy planned and organized the evening.  She invited my thoughts and input, but the credit goes to her, and I am grateful to you, Mindy, for reaching out to me.
 
Also, special thanks goes to my Mom, who is not here. May 1 was the one year anniversary of her death, and that was part of the challenging year. But, prior to her death, Mom read a proof copy of my book – the last book she ever read. My mother was a lifelong reader, but after a long, difficult operation some years ago, she seemed to lose her focus in reading.  I sent her the book just so she could see it.  First she said she’d read a few pages. A couple weeks later she told me she’d read the whole thing.  I wasn’t sure whether to believe her – so I quizzed her about some characters and events – and she got them mostly right.  After that, her interest in reading seemed to decline again, and she went back to her murder mystery videos. But, somehow, she got through this book.
 
So, I thought I’d mention some of the challenges and developments of writing this particular book, In Regalia, with Native American themes.  It’s quite different from my first two, which I call “Young Women’s Adventure Stories” – very loosely based on my own experiences, using the point of view of a young white woman exploring unfamiliar worlds.  For those books, I had a kind of blueprint to follow – other girls adventure stories:  Alice in Wonderland and the Wizard of Oz, sort of playing with the story line and some of the characters.  In Regalia is quite different – and came to me fairly intact, and without any kind similar model. 
 
1. So, where did this book come from?  Mainly from my fairly recent immersion in local, current Native American culture through MCNAA – the organization I’m donating to. That interest evolved over time: first attending the Mashpee Wampanoag pow wow on Cape Cod with my husband and young children; I went for curiosity, but something there touched me. Then it was through my connection with local resident and parent Claudia Fox Tree and her family drum, learning some songs and traditions. Then, through DNA finding distant Native ancestry, Mic Mac, Huron and Nippising. Finally, I became a MCNAA member, and have attended many of their events – learning quite a different perspective on New England and American history.
 
2. There were several challenges with this book: three narrative voices, all related and overlapping in reference to certain time and events.  The 40 year old white woman, Helene, is closest to my own point of view; then there are the journal pages of her deceased younger sister, Renee, after coming out of chronic addiction – for that I relied on experiences of people I know who have been through addiction and recovery; and lastly, the biggest creative leap, the blog posts of a 20 year old Native American named Izzy – who is “two spirit” – a native way of referring to gay, bi, or transsexual.  For that, I pulled mainly from my relationships with millennials and friends in the LGBTQ community. A huge part of the challenge of 3 voices was to keep the timeline accurate and details/names consistent. In the end, it came to me that the structure of the book in some way was like a braid, or braiding of three parts to make a stronger whole, also part of Native American culture and belief.
 
3 challenge of researching topics: allergies, addiction, jail visits, adoption, Native American land and water rights, history.  Love to research; hard to stop; learned a lot – but mainly that Native American culture is not monolithic, by any means, and that one of the biggest problems that Native Americans face is that they’re stuck in the past, romanticized or demonized, but not really seen as contemporary beings.
 
4. Challenge of cultural sensitivity/cultural appropriation – that’s a tough one, and still not entirely clear, the line between exploring and exploiting a different culture’s art and beliefs. But it was a challenge worth taking on I felt.  Fortunately, I had some readers with Native American background who were able to fill in some missing pieces, correct some things, and help explain the meaning behind some things.  This created a major reframing of part of the story – a cross-country trip of a young white woman and a Native American man. My reader, a Native American man, told me, “It’s not a fun road trip, off to see America. There’s no way I could cross through certain parts of this country without being accosted or assaulted for being Native, and have to defend myself – wrong place, wrong time.”
 
5. The challenge of finishing the book – like Mindy.  And some of the issues special to us – women in mid-life involved with children and aging parents; not having gone through some of the traditional MFA and creative writing programs; and mainly giving ourselves permission to take the time to write, and hope/believe we have something worthwhile to say.
 
I want to conclude by urging you to read my story – and Mindy’s – but also to consider writing your own stories – fiction or non –fiction – your own truths that you have to share.  It’s very doable, and it’s necessary – to hear all voices and all experiences. It’s one of the ways that things change.