Why Harry Belofonte's endorsement means so much to me.
I am 58 years old. I grew up in a lily white French-Catholic farming community of less than a thousand on the banks of the Blue Water River. I don't know what head my blue collar working father sprung from, but he was curious and engaged in the world outside of our sphere of farming, hunting, and gossip. He taught us to question authority, to rebel, to read, to throw wide our compassion to more than our family and neighbors and see that we are, globally, brothers and sisters.
And then, one day, he told us that, not only was Belefonte one of his favorite vocalists but Belefonte was of his favorite human beings.
His lessons to us children… what we were actually going to do with them… if we could act on them, became a reality when we moved to Ohio and the Kent State atrocity happened a short while later. We lived near Kent State and Dad was stuck in traffic listening on the radio and distraught that he could not be there with us. I was 12, my sister 10 and my brother 9. He was distraught because he couldn't be there with us to mitigate media demonization of those who were killed. And yes, those who were killed and those who suffered their killing were demonized.
When he got home, he gathered us together and told us that these youths… these children were fighting the good fight. He told us to ignore the slander that we will hear now, the next day and the coming months. It felt good to hear Dad talk this way. It was what we were feeling. It was we needed to walk out the door and face ignorance.
About 3 or 4 days later, while waiting for my brother's bus (I didn't need to walk him home, but I liked to meet him), I saw the bus rocking back and forth on its wheels. When it got to the stop I could hear near the entire occupants chanting "Bawl Baby Baldy, Bawl Baby Baldy, Bawl Baby Baldy". They were attacking my brother. I knew this because my brother was easy to cry and in order to save money, my mother would give him an unfortunate hair cut.
So, and I am not proud of this because my father was a firm proponent of peaceful solutions in difficult times, I punched every single kid who came off that bus. I was a strong girl. I broke my middle finger which is still crooked to this day.
So, on the way home, I asked my beaten and bruised brother, "What's up? Why? What happened"? And he told me it all started when he defended the Kent State protesters but they started beating him up when he told them we had a black great great grandfather (true) and that we are no different.
Why am I telling this story? Fast forward. My family moves to Delaware when I was 12. If my family thought being an advocate for racial and social justice was difficult in the communities that we lived in Michigan and Ohio, we had no clue of the anger we would face in communities that proudly displayed the confederate flag.
Feces in our lockers. Slammed against the walls in schools hallways. Eggs and corn thrown against our house. Us kids, now currently 58, 57, and 56, talk about our only refuge. Our home. Sometimes we would fall to our knees after walking in the door.
Dad died when I was 18. 40 years later I still cry. But, I do celebrate his courage and how he gave me courage to stand up against racism when I was a child and inspired me to carry on as an adult.
I've never been a perfect ally but I have been a good ally. I am most proud of my work with Cop Watch Oakland and the Women's Economic Agenda Project.
In regards to the latter, organization, I am proud of the work we did to protest the Clintons welfare reform. And proud of the coalitions we made nationwide to fight it. Proud of how we pooled all of our meager resources pre internet.
One of the meanest things ever promoted by a democrat. Just flat out cruel.
Still to this day, we cry.
And thanks Dad for teaching me about Harry Belfonte.
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Luminous Dad 
What a great dad. Made me cry too.
