Florence in Words
December 29, 2014
The years do pass more and more quickly in old age. Yes, that’s where I am—in old age—and if I have begun to feel it keenly, it comes as an aftermath of the knee surgery, which ironically has made it impossible, so far, to regain my former mobility on foot. Yes, I can walk up and down steps without pain, but were you to see me in the street today, moving slowly and awkwardly with a cane, you would label me a disabled person.
So I must begin by explaining the aftermath of my knee surgery. The knee mended and I regained its flexion. But the surgery produced another problem: the surgical leg is now much longer than the right leg. As a result, walking has been destroying my right foot, especially its ankle tendon along with the soft tissue along the foot’s right side. The more I walk, the more I am harming the right foot. According to my surgeon, this sometimes “happens.” He has recommended a foot doctor, who has said she can do nothing for my condition. She has just me to someone who may be able to build a special insert for my shoes or order a special shoe constructed that would balance the length of both legs.
Not understanding any of this, early this year I accepted a speaking engagement at the University of Lincoln in England, and thanks to the generosity of my African project colleague, Christiane Owusu-Sarpong, I planned, with her, a three-week stay in London, Strasbourg, and Luzern. After the lecture in Lincoln, in mid-July, she metme in London, and we stayed for a week with her children in their beautiful apartment along the Thames. We went to several theatres and to museums, as I lived on Tylenol and tried to ignore the pain. Midway, in Strasbourg, I had to cut back, and in Luzern, I could do very little walking. Fortunately, I was in a beautiful place, and fortunately I had George Eliot’s Middlemarch with me, as well as interesting people to talk with who were also kind about driving me to see something of the area and feeding me wonderful food and conversation.
Family news: A month before that trip, I had flown to Kansas to visit with Alice, my daughter, and her son Jack, his wife Maban, and their two darling daughters, Kennedy and Mina. Because Alice had her car, and because we didn’t try walking except to shop or visit a park with the children, I enjoyed being with the young people and especially the children. Through the summer, daughter-in-law AnnJ was a frequent visitor, and my step-son David some of the time, in part because their daughter, Miriam, is also in N.Y. She has left science for high-level computer work, and has just begun her first fabulous job. Dr. Florence, my other granddaughter, is working in oncology-radiology at Queens General Hospital, though her formal appointment is at Mount Sinai. She is happy in New York.
What can I say about the state of the world? I am pleased to see some young people at home and abroad taking non-violent action on behalf of civil rights, and some days I can feel part of a previous generation that led the way. On other days I fret that I can do nothing but write a check, and not very large ones at that. I continue to believe in the good sense of President Obama, and hope (as I remember Mariam Chamberlain did) to be able to vote for Hillary for President while I still have my marbles (which I do). President Obama’s actions on immigration and Cuba have cheered me, but since I read the Times, I am also disheartened daily by the atrocities of governments and the brutality of assassins here in Brooklyn and all over the world. I avoid cinema that pictures a future filled with still more brutality, and can’t help wondering whether my two and five-year oldgreat granddaughters will have to survive such a dreadful world.
My warm wishes to you for the new year.
December 9, 2014
I’ve just finished watching Gravity, and I can understand why, a year ago, it was a possible contender for the Academy Award. It’s an unusual film, an exiting film, and a complex one scientifically. Probably it was more terrifying to see on a big screen than it was here on my little television set. I can understand the disappointment of the director/producer and the female star when 12 Years a Slave won. Clearly, the subject—the terrors of racism, albeit historically presented—won, and not the terrors of forward-looking science and technology.
Ironically, of course, this year, as possible Academy Award films begin to challenge each other, there is nothing among them to capture the vision we have on small screens of white policemen killing black males, one even as young as twelve, and one old enough to have a couple of children. No film we are being offered comes close to the stories we hear about on television and in political speeches and read about in newspaper and magazine print.
People like me went to Mississippi in the mid-sixties, where we witnessed white police savagely attacking black youngsters “to teach them a lesson,” as I heard one officer say. And at least once in my months in Jackson, in 1964 and 1965 I saw members of the F.B.I. stand by while police banged kids in the head and kicked them as they lay on the ground. No one ever touched me, though I was told countless times to “go back where you came from.”
I did not understand how traumatic this experience had been until, back in Baltimore, the car I was driving was hit from behind by a truck that didn’t stop in time. As a white policeman approached my car, I screamed, “Don’t touch me. Get away from me.” He tried to tell me I was bleeding, but I kept on screaming until a friend came by and explained that I needed medical attention and the policeman was trying to be helpful.
Today, at lunch with my bi-racial grand-daughter, I heard her describe how her white father and black mother—both lawyers—had prepped her and her older brother about what to do if stopped by police, wherever they might be. “Don’t fight it. Don’t get angry. Do what you are told. Be passive. Say you want to call your father.”
I can’t explain rationally why all this came out after “Gravity,” unless it’s the word itself. Yes, it means the force that keeps us anchored to the earth, but it also means something of extreme significance. And that’s also where we are as a nation: somewhere in outer space, unwilling or unable to come to terms with our racist past, unable to break out of the racism that still controls many of us both consciously and unconsciously. I want to say, “How long? How many years longer before we are not burying black men killed by white men unable to control their fear."