In praise of Aunty Charlotte

Angelina Weld Grimke

One of my Poem-a-Day e-mails a few days ago introduced me to one entitled 'To Keep the Memory of Charlotte Forten Grimke' by Angelina Weld Grimke. Who were these women? And why did one eulogise the other? If you read the poem at the end of this post perhaps you'll agree that eulogy is the right way of describing it. Briefly, here's the story of two quite remarkable women and it takes us into an area that we don't hear much of in our history lessons in the UK.





Charlotte Forten Grimk

Charlotte Forten Grimké was one of the most influential antislavery activists of her time. Born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania in 1837 as a free individual, she worked all of her life trying to end slavery and create as much equality between blacks and whites as possible. She was one of the first black teachers to decide to go down South to attempt to educate the slaves and former slaves (by coincidence, we visited one of the schools she taught in just outside of Beaufort, South Carolina, a few years ago). Forten also is  known for her journals, which she kept diligently throughout her entire life. She died in 1914 and is remembered as one of the most influential civil rights and social justice supporters of her time.

Her niece, Angelina, lived with her aunty Charlotte during her teenage years, while her father served as the American consul to the Dominican Republic. She was born on February 27th 1880 in Boston. After graduating from the Boston Normal School of Gymnastics (now Wellesley College) in 1902, Angelina embarked on a career teaching English in Washington, D.C. that would last until 1926. It is during her teaching career that she begins to write.  Her poetry, short stories and essays were published in The Crisis, Alain Locke’s The New Negro, in Countee Cullen’s Caroling Dusk and in Robert Kerlin’s Negro Poets and Their Poems. She is best known for her play Rachel, a three act drama that was performed by an all black cast in March of 1916. Published in 1920, the play was produced as a vehicle for the NAACP (National Association for the Advancement of Coloured People. Founded in 1909, the NAACP is the oldest and largest civil rights organization in the USA) to rally support against the film The Birth of Nation.  In the production program of the play the NAACP qualifies Rachel as unprecedented, “This is the first attempt to use that stage for race propaganda in order to enlighten the American people relating to the lamentable condition of ten millions of colored citizens in this free republic.”

After her father died, Angelina moved to New York and never published again. Dying in 1958, she is regarded as a forerunner of the cultural awakening of black art and expression.

At a distance, it's difficult for someone in the UK to fully appreciate the difficulties Charlotte and Angelina faced and the determination they must have shown in pursuing their aims. I think it's right that we keep the memories of both of them, albeit briefly. 

To Keep the Memory of Charlotte Forten Grimke
by Angelina Weld Grimke

Still are there wonders of the dark and day;

The muted shrillings of shy things at night,

So small beneath the stars and moon;

The peace, dream-frail, but perfect while the light

Lies softly on the leaves at noon.

These are, and these will be

Until Eternity;

But she who loved them well has gone away.

Each dawn, while yet the east is veiléd grey,

The birds about her window wake and sing;

And far away each day some lark

I know is singing where the grasses swing;

Some robin calls and calls at dark.

These are, and these will be

Until Eternity;

But she who loved them well has gone away.

The wild flowers that she loved down green ways stray;

Her roses lift their wistful buds at dawn,

But not for eyes that loved them best;

Only her little pansies are all gone,

Some lying softly on her breast.

And flowers will bud and be

Until Eternity;

But she who loved them well has gone away.

Where has she gone? And who is there to say?

But this we know: her gentle spirit moves

And is where beauty never wanes,

Perchance by other streams, mid other groves;

And to us here, ah! she remains

A lovely memory,

Until Eternity;
She came, she loved, and then she went away. 

I leave these shores with considerable trepidation..............

...............at what mischief this lot will get up to in my absence. Perhaps they'll be gone when I come back? Perhaps it's all a nasty dream? Perhaps I need a holiday?

(If you are interested, the links will take you to some interesting comments on their respective performances. I particularly like the one at the end for Hapless Nick Clegg - it's well worth three minutes of your time to view).

David Cameron - A Prime Minister who can't lead.

 

George Osborne - a Chancellor who can't count.

 

Michael Gove - an Education Secretary who's semi-literate.

 

Iain Duncan-Smith – a head of the Department of Work and Pensions who’s unemployable.

 

William Hague – a Foreign Secretary who can’t read a map.

 



Owen Paterson – an Environment Secretary whose big policy is killing large numbers of animals.

 

Philip Hammond – a Defence Secretary who sulks when Parliament won’t allow him to attack.

 

Theresa May – a Home Secretary who always seems to be completely out-to-lunch.

 

Jeremy Hunt – a Health Secretary who makes everybody sick.

 

Chris Grayling – a Justice Secretary who specialises in making trials unfair.

 

Maria Miller – a Culture Secretary who is an utter philistine.

 

Eric Pickles – a Communities Secretary who makes everyone want to steer well clear of him.

 

Edward Davey – an Energy Secretary of stultifying inertia.

 

Nick Clegg – a Deputy Prime Minister who… um… does… er… well, he’s… well-well what I’m trying to say is… no, I mean… well I mean, what he’s there to do is… to… ermmmmm…

Service with a smile: continued (again).

A recent trip to Jersey gave us the opportunity to partake of the delights of Coffee Republic. To be accurate, my IWC had the coffee and I had a rather nondescript cup of Earl Grey (such sophistication for one from Trethomas). I've had a pop at Costa Coffee and Starbucks in the past and, I'm afraid, now it's the turn of Coffee Republic. Lousy coffee by all accounts in a mug with an intriguing slogan. The beans were 'lovingly brewed', allegedly. This got me thinking about how would we know the amount of affection that went into producing each mugful. Maybe something along the following lines happens in the brewery/roastery...............?

 

 

Commemorating the start of WW1

Although not deliberately planned (Honest! I really don't think that far ahead), my last post mentioning the poet Marvin Bell's anti-war activities provides a link to this present one on a related theme - commemorating the hundredth anniversary of the beginning of WW1. I'm involved in two activities around this which, at first glance, might seem contradictory.

On the one hand, I am researching the backgrounds of the names appearing on our local WW1 memorial, with the object of writing a book, the publication of which will coincide with the hundredth anniversary. On the other hand, I am involved, through my membership of the Tavistock Peace Action Group, in devising an exhibition which will not only remind people of the true cost of that war but also promote peace. Finding out the personal stories of the thirty two men who died in the former exercise informs my contributions to the latter and convinces me that it is a worthwhile exercise.

Within that context, I have just signed an open letter organised and publicised by the No Glory in War group. The letter reads:

How should we remember the first world war in 2014?

2014 marks the hundredth anniversary of the beginning of the First World War. Far from being a "war to end all wars" or a "victory for democracy", this was a military disaster and a human catastrophe.
We are disturbed, therefore, to hear that David Cameron plans to spend £55,000,000 on "truly national commemorations" to mark this anniversary. Mr. Cameron has quite inappropriately compared these to the "Diamond Jubilee celebrations" and stated that their aim will be to stress our "national spirit". That they will be run at least in part by former generals and ex-defence secretaries reveals just how misconceived these plans are.
Instead we believe it is important to remember that this was a war that was driven by big powers' competition for influence around the globe, and caused a degree of suffering all too clear in the statistical record of 16 million people dead and 20 million wounded.
In 2014, we and others across the world will be organising cultural, political and educational activities to mark the courage of many involved in the war but also to remember the almost unimaginable devastation caused.
In a time of international tension we call on writers, actors, musicians, teachers and campaigners to join with us to ensure that this anniversary is used to promote peace and international co-operation.

I join many celebrities in appending my signature to this letter (Simon, Callow, Tony Benn, Patrick Steward, Terry Jones, Brian Eno, Ken Loach, Timothy West to name just a few) and more details can be found on the No Glory website (here). The more signatories, the better and the more weight it will carry.

Cafe Frigo?

A rather odd, but strangely beguiling to read aloud, poem dropped into my in-box today. It's Time Study by the American poet, Marvin Bell.  Of it he writes: "I'm partial to coffee shops, brain work, and poems on the page. I write after midnight. Sometimes, twisty syntax happens, and I surrender". Bell has written poems for many years and was the first Poet Laureate of the state of Iowa (which begs the question of how many poets are there in Iowa?). He has written poems protesting against the Afghanistan and Iraq wars and has given readings for Poets Against the War. He did see active service during the Vietnam War and he writes from his experiences there. Here it is, enjoy - if it's your thing. I like it.

The coffee was cold so I said so. I said,
my coffee is cold, and then I repeated it
but with a variation, something like, my
coffee is cold and I said so, and then, I
said I am glad my coffee is cold because
I get to say so, and I said my coffee is cold
like the Sahara at night, and I said the Sahara
is a lot like my coffee, which has cream,
and it is cold which means I have to say so
or someone will say to drink my coffee,
which is cold and the camels are asleep.

Let’s try it again, I said, taking a sip of coffee,
and then not taking a sip but still holding
the cup and I said look at the cup and see
if you can see the Sahara and then I said,
it was in there a moment ago but I took a sip
and it is inside me I suppose, and I said then
the same thing, my coffee is cold, and also,
this coffee is cold to make sure they knew
which coffee, not coffee as coffee but coffee
as a part of the whole and also immediate
in some sense, like waking in the desert.

I write a lot about coffee, I said, and I said,
I just need to see who my friends are, the ones
who will stay till the end, and I added, I do not
take death as a personal insult, and I said it was
good to repeat things but not ideas, and I said
it was not good to repeat ideas, and I said also
it was good to repeat things, and I said my coffee
is cold and I can say so and I said when I say
my coffee is cold it is part of something bigger
that can last as long as I say it is, still is, and then
I said my coffee is still cold at this time, still is.

What's in a word?



My last two posts on jargon and language brought to mind a graphic I came across last month. Here it is:

The underlying data in the chart come from a database called LexisNexis which, by all accounts, is an indispensable and well respected resource for looking at media coverage over extended periods. Unfortunately, it's a fairly expensive subscription only service so it's not something I have personal experience of (but my birthday is coming up so if anyone is feeling generous....).

What it shows is the number of times the word(s) 'scrounger(s)' appeared in the UK press from 1994 to the present, with a huge unprecedented rise coinciding with the arrival of the coalition in power. Understandably it has had wide circulation in political circles, not least of which because of the sustained campaign against benefit claimants in parts of the print media and the government's willingness to stoke the flames by selective, and in some cases, deceptive use of official data (See here. Hang your heads in shame, Iain Duncan Smith and Grant Shapps). The picture the data give of trends over time is quite alarming but not really surprising. Say something often enough and people start believing it. Media manipulation is nothing new and a constant drip, drip, drip of 'scare' stories have resulted in negative attitudes towards benefits and claimants being legitimised and made respectable. Once the ground has been prepared, it's so much easier for the ruling party to bring in punitive measures. After all, they are all scroungers, aren't they? 

One thing I find puzzling is why negative coverage finds such a ready audience amongst the Great British Public. Whatever the explanation, I've got the persistent feeling that if it's worth someone's while to spread misinformation, it's worth my while to try to set the record straight insofar as I can within my limited sphere of influence.

The view from the inside.......................

Mark and Steven Neary

Talking as I was in my last post about jargon, there's a tangential connection on this topic with a blog I follow on a regular basis. It's written by Mark Neary and is entitled Love, Belief and Balls You only have to read some of Mark's posts to realise just how appropriate the title is, particularly the last word when he describes many of his interactions with the world of social care.

To give some background. Mark is the sole carer of his son, Steven, who is 23 and who has autism and other learning difficulties. From his experiences, Mark has concluded that the adult social care world is about many things, but one thing it's not about is..... care. The language used, and this is where the connection with jargon comes in, seems to mislead right from the start. Processes appear to come before people in a system of impenetrable management where money is the biggest consideration.

Day centres are closed down. Although you may have considered them a helpful lifeline, this closure is not a negative thing because it's been done to promote independence. Service user choice is also a fabulous phrase until you find it results in being given a sum of money to purchase your own care provider but no one provides care at those rates which are calculated for you by a fairer charging policy. Which also sounds good but isn't. It's clear that the jargon used to describe the process does not match reality. Perhaps it's more designed to describe what is intended to happen rather than what actually does? If this is the case, then there's clearly a huge gap between aspiration and delivery. And for that we can blame the paymasters, the budget cutters - the politicians.

Another point Mark makes about the jargon of the social care system is the way it seems to make Steven's life sound even less "normal" than it is. Here are some of the examples he gives: 

1. Mark lives in his home. Steven's current placement is in the family home.

2. When Mark makes a pizza, he's making a pizza. When Steven makes a pizza, he's increasing his independence skills (as overseen by an occupational therapist).

3. If Mark cries, he's sad about something. If Steven cries, it is logged and analysed by the psychologist and positive behaviour team.

4. If Mark shouts or swears, He's angry about something. If Steven shouts or swears, it is challenging behaviour and new behaviour management plans need to be drawn up.

5. If Mark chooses between steak or fish for his tea, he's making a choice. If Steven chooses either steak or fish for his tea, he is being empowered.

6. Mark has friends. Steven has a circle of support and influence.

7. If Steve is asked what he wants to do with his free time, he's planning his hobbies. If Steven is asked what he wants to do with his free time, it's his person-centred plan.

8. If Mark makes an unwise choice, he's messed up. If Steven makes an unwise choice he may be lacking mental capacity.

9. If Mark sorts his CDs into alphabetical order, he's being a bit anal. If Steven sorts his Mr Bean DVDs into colour order, he is being inappropriately obsessive.

10. If Mark eats two Mars bars, he's being a pig. If Steven eats two Mars bars, he is challenging boundaries.

I find Mark's journal to be sad and infuriating: sad about the situation he finds himself in and infuriating because of the way he and Steven are being treated by the system.  And he is certainly not
alone.

Another blog I follow is written by Sue Marsh and is entitled Diary of a Benefit Scrounger  In Sue's words"I have a rare form of Crohn's Disease. I was diagnosed 21 years ago and have had many operations to remove strictures (narrowings in my bowel that grow like tumours) I suffer daily pain, often vomiting, malnourished and weak. I take mega-strong medications every day including chemo-style immuno-suppressants, opiates and anti-sickness injections. Sometimes I am fed into my central vein by tube, other times I can enjoy a nice meal out. I have children that I often can't look after and a husband who often looks after me. Our lives are disrupted daily by the misery of a chronic condition".

Apart from the personal stories of Mark and Sue gleaned from their various posts, what I get from them is a view of the sharp end of our welfare state. It is not a view I can get from the press or TV. It's a raw statement of the way some disadvantaged people are being treated and, quite simply, it shouldn't be this way. I can't do anything to help Mark and Sue directly (apart from occasionally commenting on one of their posts to show some sort of solidarity and support) but I can bear their stories in mind when I am trying to interpret the pronouncements of Iain Duncan Smith et al. There's nothing like facts to deflate political jargon.

Keeping a poker face....................

Once upon a long time ago when I was gainfully employed, I could jargon with the best of them. When talking with those in the same discipline, using commonly understood terms makes sense. Management-speak is something else: I've never knowingly 'run things up the flagpole to see who saluted them' or 'put something on the table to see if it's got legs'. But I'll admit to management-speaking in jest and have been astounded when people have taken the clichés seriously. But I digress somewhat from my starting point: jargon. Here's a verbatim transcript of a recent interchange I had on Facebook. Don't you just love the English language?

Ms X: Some plum pushed all-in from button for 20M (!) on my big blind. I called with AK and he had A9. Obviously, flop was A9Q and it never got any better. Pants*.

Me: Ms X, would you care to translate the above into English?

Ms X: A foolish player bet with all of his money, which was equivalent to about 20 times what it costs to pay the compulsory bets for each hand in a poker tournament. I was in a seat on the table that meant, for that hand, I had to pay the largest amount of compulsory bets, he was in the seat two to my right. He was attempting to aggressively separate me from my money; money I would to have had to have paid with any two starting cards. Upon looking at my cards I discovered I had an Ace and a King together which is the 3rd best starting hand I could look at, so I agreed to call his bet. His hand was an Ace and a Nine, which made me a 4 to 1 favourite to win a large pot. The dealer then laid the community cards, offering 5 more cards to decide the winner of the game. Within those 5 card was an Ace and a Nine which meant he had 'two pairs- AA and 99' where I had 'one pair- AA'. He found his 20% probability to win the pot and won the pot. Pants*. I think this conclusively proves that poker 'short-talk' is actually massively timesaving.

* For my (few, so few, but very precious readers in the USA: Adjective: pants (comparative: more pants, superlative: most pants) (UK slang) of inferior quality, rubbish.