Rebuttal

Fiorella remembers when black people weren't allowed to walk through the doors of "nice" stores in downtown Waco--unless they were part of the clean-up crew, of course. She remembers when the president of her church youth group and another girl got on the office phone and, just for kicks, called phone numbers in the black area of town and told whoever answered that he had won a million dollar prize and where to pick it up. She remembers a high school guy she knew telling her how much fun it was to go down to South Waco and pretend he was about to run down old black women because they'd screech and drop whatever they were carrying all over the street.

Don't tell Fio that racism didn't exist before Obama took office.

Respect UNCLE TOM'S CABIN

Black people, do not sneer at Uncle Tom or his creator, Harriet Beecher Stowe.

The 1800s were an era of intense abolitionist fervor in the United States. Half the nation had read about the horrors of slavery, but it took one final spark to light the tinder of the Civil War, and that spark was a book called Uncle Tom's Cabin, published in 1851.  Uncle Tom, as portrayed by Stowe, was not a rebel, but a saint, a Christ figure, an obedient, God-fearing, forgiving man who tried to serve all of his masters well, no matter how cruel they were. Fiorella, who read Uncle Tom's Cabin in her youth, cried when he died at the end of the book and vowed to speak up against racism whenever she encountered it, and so did many readers in the 1800s. As Abraham Lincoln said when he finally met Stowe. "So you are the little woman who wrote the book that started this great war!"

So Fio repeats--black people of today, do not sneer at Uncle Tom or his creator. They provided the impetus that set you free.

Undocumented

Confession:
Fiorella's paternal grandfather lived and died as an undocumented immigrant--an illegal alien, or whatever you want to call it.  And, like most other immigrants, he came to this country for opportunity, to make a better life for himself than he could have had in his native country.  He worked in the Pennsylvania coal mines--just as today's UIs pick the crops, clean houses, and mow lawns.  And on the side, he married and fathered four children, who produced seven grandchildren, all of whom would have made him proud--two teachers, an audiologist, an accountant, an entrepreneur, a lawyer,  and your Fio, who ain't doin' too bad either.

The only difference Fiorella can see between Grandpa and today's UIs is that he was blond and a citizen of the Austro-Hungarian empire, while they are dark and citizens of Mexico.

Racism by any other name can stink as sweet.

Donald, Donald, Donald

Donald Trump is trying to buy the presidency, and everyone knows it's for sale, that the candidate with the bigger war chest wins.  Why else is Fio's email inbox overflowing with pleas for donations?
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The one good thing Fiorella can say about The Donald is that he's running on his own dime.  But that also means he doesn't have to answer to anybody.  Yes, he's free to bash anybody he wants to--and he does. Brown people, women people, hero people.
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A lot of people comment about his hair, but Fio is more concerned about what doesn't lie under it.

Viewpoint Snippets

Fiorella is amused by all the secessionist talk.  It's like a kid saying that he's picking up his football and going home because he didn't win the game.  But she's horrified by all the blatant racism that's  involved.
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Fiorella is resigned to Rick Perry running for governor again and winning, but she doesn't like it. Surely Texas deserves better.
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Fiorella is tired of politics.  She needs to refocus from the national scene to her own garden and start working on PRINCESS REDLANDER again.

Blind Eye

Years ago, when Forella was finishing her schooling and working part-time in the Sears credit department, she befriended a new hire named Lisa.  Lisa was unusually short, had a lame leg, and her forehead was in continual flake from some kind psoriasis, all of which probably made Fio more sympathetic to her.  Then one day Lisa told Fio about asking a stupid black girl to hem a dress for her while she was visiting her parents' home in Mississippi over the holidays.

She'd told the girl she would pay her three dollars, but when the time came, she offered her a choice between the three dollars and an old skirt of hers.

"She just looked at me," Lisa exclaimed.  "I couldn't get her to make a decision!"

Fiorella wasn't as friendly toward Lisa after that, and not in the least sympathetic.