David and Goliath and Healthcare*

In my opinion, the vitriol of the healthcare debate is all ideology and political money all around. Republicans in the pockets of the healthcare industry which includes insurance companies and hospital corporations (Goliath); Democrats in the pockets of the poor and under-represented, the same people Republicans want to make the whipping boy of any progress in social justice (David). (Apologies for an expedient eisegesis.)

The abortion scare  is a perfect example. The abortion argument is, in disguise, a ploy based on elitism, spread abroad to repeat the fear-mongering of the Philistines, to bring the Israelites into submission, to enslave them and keep them poor.


The abortion scare is a language game, propaganda generated for the same reasons the Republicans always pile responsibility on the backs of the poor and persons of color who are marginalized by each and every Republican "cause" on the present platform. Ever since HIV appeared in the 1980s, a prime case study, Republicans have forced the health care system into its typical posture: suspicion of and scapegoating of the poor and persons of color. Poverty; public education; civic development -- the same coded language and inaction kill millions of faceless people.

The Tea Party members and even a (probably Republican) member of the house played their hand: race and phobia of the poor couched in the fear language designed to dupe well-meaning good people. I appeal to the example of Jesus: the poor were his #1 concern, not the political and fiscal hegemony "scare" of the Pharisees. The Republicans will have to figure out another strategy. Their "tell" in the past weekend has blown their cover. 

Meanwhile, David has emerged from the unwashed masses with his sling and five smooth stones. He managed to bring the monster down, maybe not with the first shot, but he's down -- down.

Democrats, my David trope, likewise, have another monster on the way: the challenge to lead toward the implementation of what could be the most monumental step of progress in this century (spoken by one who will most likely only see the first 1/3 or so of it, actuarially speaking). David -- keep your eye on the monster.

Nota bene: These arguments are so divisive because they are designed to hit us where we feel rather than where we think. The abortion argument is an argument of the amygdala, not the hippocampus. Or is it the other way around? The emotional hit in the gut by the abortion argument is meant to bypass the brain and go straight to the ballot box and the checkbook. Don't fall for it!




*I'm in a debate on Facebook with a man I first met when he was a seminarian. Now he's a minister, and I think he's a wonderful person.


Image is from http://www.biblepicturegallery.com/free/screen-sized%20pictures.htm

My Very Personal $.02 for Health Care Reform and Why I Wrote to my Congressman, André Carson

Dear Mr. Carson,

I am your constituent, I voted for you, and I am very proud of your representation of our district of Indiana.

I am also a friend of your home mosque, Nur Allah, in Indianapolis. Below, I will include a link to a wonderful story of discovery between Imam Mikal Saahir and me. We were on the cover of the Indianapolis Star on February 20, 2010. Our families share close ties, rooted in slavery, in Limestone County, AL, where Mikal’s parents and my parents and I were born.

As your constituent, I'm writing to tell you why I'm such a strong supporter of health reform. My story about health care is a desperate concern for my own family.

I am one of many women of an age, 50+ (I am 52), unemployed, searching for work, and unable to afford health insurance. When I moved to Indianapolis in 2007, to be with my new family, I knew I had a job here for one year at Christian Theological Seminary. During that one year, I had excellent health insurance, with generous benefits. Since July of 2008, I have had no insurance.

I have an academic background, but in a field that is very narrowly defined, Pastoral Care and Counseling. The impact of the economy upon institutions of higher learning have made it practically impossible to find work teaching in my field.

When I began the job search, in 2007, while I was on a limited one-year contract as Interim Associate Academic Dean at CTS, I was warned that a woman over the age of 50 could expect to be in the job search process for an average of 18 months. I passed that mark last December, and still, I have continued to search without success. And, I continue to be without health insurance. For a very brief time, I was employed at a very low wage, and had coverage, but when that position ended, I could not afford the cost of COBRA.

I have applied to Wishard Health Advantage and am waiting to hear from them about my eligibility. When I consider my career prior to moving to Indiana, the work and the benefits, I feel very awkward applying for insurance that covers the poor, even though I suppose I have to realize that I am now poor. I have a place to live with family who love me and care for me. In that I have a roof over my head, and food to eat, I am not poor; but, in terms of earning my living at a job that provides not just an income, but self-esteem, I am devastated. I have spent all of my savings.

I am capable of earning a lot of money, with companies or institutions that would offer excellent benefits. Meanwhile, I could be taking the place of someone who needs the coverage more than I do. Yet, this seems to be my only recourse during this period of unemployment (do you hear my expectation, that I will work again in my field?). This hope, for coverage by Wishard Health Advantage, is my beacon against drowning in debt if I should need it.

Fortunately, my health is very good. I have no major pre-existing conditions. As I continue to age without coverage, unable to afford the basics of preventive medicine, I am monitoring my diet and exercise, trying to avoid the need for medical care. I do worry, however, because I have not had the essentials of mammogram and annual physical exams and check-ups recommended for a woman my age.

For the minor conditions for which I do need medication, I have been blessed to receive free for a limited time, from a drug company, a medication that would otherwise cost over $150.00/month. That prescription will expire soon. I have another generic prescription that I am blessed to be able to purchase for $5.00/month at the Kroger pharmacy. If I do qualify for Wishard Health Advantage, both medications will cost the same, $5.00/month/prescription, from Wishard pharmacies.

I wish to emphasize two factors. One, I am in many ways a person of privilege. I have an excellent education (Ph.D. from Vanderbilt University). I have known good success as an employee all my working life. I taught in my field for seven years in Ohio, prior to moving to Indianapolis.

Secondly, I am "a woman of a certain age" in which job opportunities are, obviously, very limited. When I went to orientation and training at the Work One center, an employment counselor advised me to do two things:

1) downplay my level of education

2) disguise my age

I learned to prepare a résumé that has no specific dates of employment and no reference to my academic career, so all an employer knows is that I do have a bachelor's degree. I do not provide the dates of my education completions so that my age could not be calculated. Both of these pieces of advice are uncomfortable because they do not reflect the full reality of my background.

I have been involved in a full-time job of seeking employment. Each week, I receive postings of openings, and I apply to the ones that seem to align with my talents and training. In the past three years, I have had one call from an agency that screens potential employees from corporations in Indianapolis.

I have sent my academic credentials to many colleges and universities in Central Indiana. To date, I have had no interviews. Thanks to my one year contract at CTS, I have been invited to teach on an adjunct basis. One course in the spring semester and one course in the fall semester are the extent of my employment as an adjunct. I am deeply grateful for this chance to use my skills and earn some money for my family ($6,200/year).

With this income I earn, I hope to qualify for Wishard Health Advantage. I will be deeply grateful if I qualify. If not, I do not know what will happen to me and my family if I experience sickness, injury, or any other kind of medical need.

I hope the health care bill will pass and change will begin for me and countless other women over 50 who are unable to do what we want to do: work with our skills, and manage medical care when we are unable to find a job. I hope that Wishard Health Advantage will extend to me while I am in this period of unemployment. If it does not, for whatever reason, I will be in deep despair and will live in fear of the welfare of my family.

I ask that you help me and others by supporting health care reform. I am hopeful that we will have a national plan that includes all citizens of Indianapolis, and that covers all persons in our country.

Please see my message to you, along with the stories and photos of other Americans from your district and across the nation, at http://my.barackobama.com/HereFor

Here is a link to the story of the first encounter between Mikal Saahir and me, one year ago this month.

http://indyanne.blogspot.com/2009/03/spiritual-dna-or-day-imam-met-southern.html

http://indyanne.blogspot.com/2010/03/story-in-star.html

Your constituent,

Anne G. McWilliams

The Story in the Star

I finally scanned the Indianapolis Star article with photos and graphics of the story of 2/20/2010. Thanks again to Bobby King.

I posted the articles on Dropbox in four pieces, the best I could do with my scanner size here at home. Thanks to those who asked to see the photos and graphics.

I've also started a blog of our research on the McWilliamses of Limestone County, AL, and I'll post that update soon.

Here are the links:

http://dl.dropbox.com/u/4819731/McWilliams-Saahir_Star_20_Feb_2010_1.pdf

http://dl.dropbox.com/u/4819731/McWilliams-Saahir_Star_20_Feb_2010_2.pdf

http://dl.dropbox.com/u/4819731/McWilliams-Saahir_Star_20_Feb_2010_3.pdf

http://dl.dropbox.com/u/4819731/McWilliams-Saahir_Star_20_Feb_2010_4.pdf

... and what about the prom?

I sat down today and visually visited my high school Facebook friends. I’m thinking about the whole idea of "prom." Back then, there were comings-out of girls in the elite society of white girls. I guess I should go ahead and crack the old nut: I had my coming out much later, around the age of 27. 

At Athens High School, there was no prom. Along with desegregation, prom was discontinued. I think of that today with the news of the high school in Fulton, MS, that cancelled their prom because a lesbian couple planned to go together as a couple.

That the school would cancel its prom, placing the burden of a stupid adult decision on the backs of a couple of kids is so sad to me for the two girls and for all the kids who looked forward to their prom. But, you know what? I've been there, in a couple of ways. For one, I went to a school that did not have a prom for reasons adults thought made sense. Secondly, I've felt the social ostracism of being controversially different. With everything in me, I wanted so much to fit in and, especially, to not rock the boat. Of course, we had gay schoolmates back then -- we're everywhere, always. But, it was hard for those who could not pass. One person I know of committed suicide. I had no language for or consciousness of my own gayness back then, but I did feel the pain of difference. But, really, back then, we were frying other fish, so to speak. I can remember only that we were all twisted up about race.

So, why did my high school not have prom? Because: parents of white girls did not want the risk of their girls dancing with black boys. And, school officials did not want the set-up for inter-racial violence. That's it, in a nutshell.

Proms and coming out balls were (are?) for putting people of the same education and social class together to make couples, to make families, to make society. That's why schools once were in neighborhoods. Society girl rituals are about presenting young ladies to the world, to say, "I'm ready -- I will graduate, I'm fertile, come and court me." The more elite clubs are about social engineering sharpened to a point. And, as the Baptists said back then, everyone knows if you allow teenagers to have sex before marriage, it could lead to dancing. No one thinks overtly, out loud about the design of social rituals. It's all about birds of a feather. That's the thinking of the good ol' days -- the Old South.

Somewhere along the way, the elite sorority I mentioned earlier, the one that would finally move me out of strangeness into popularity, hosted a formal-dress dance for the white kids, by invitation only. The brief time I was a pledge, I wrote kids' names on bids and envelopes, decorated the ballroom, and ran the scut-work errands for the sorority. The bids were presented at the door of the Athens Country Club (need I say, whites only Country Club?), and one year, at the ballroom of the Jetport in Madison. 

Above, that's the photo from my senior year, dressed in the gown my mother made for me. In our alternative-prom formal, couples (boy-girl) promenaded across a stage in a ceremony called the "lead-out." The tuxed boy with the gowned girl on his arm walked with head-high dignity out into the spot-light and paused for the photograph. Where is that tuxed boy now? He was older than me by 3 years -- an older man.

This same sorority also held the Sadie Hawkins dance every year. Whites only, of course. For this dance, the girls asked the boys, turning the tables of chivalry. I think that dance was at the old Fairgrounds in a barn-like building. 

The idea of both dances is that they were off school property in private locations, hosted by a private group that was not officially affiliated with the school. Parents were chaperones. Teachers and school officials were invited, unofficially. I wonder if anyone back then questioned what we were doing? Well, why should anyone's conscience be any different from mine? There I was, a Christian, a caring person -- and a self-absorbed teenager trying to fit in. 

Why does my mind anachronistically wish to have been more enlightened back then? The lines were drawn for us, racially and sexually. We all knew our "place" in society. I suppose by now, I have moved through my life to such a place that I find it impossible to give in to nostalgia. Sure, it was a sweet time at times, but would I go back and live it again? Not just no, but, hell no.

School Days: Class of '75

In the spring of 1975, I graduated from Athens High School, Athens, AL. I think our class must be due for a reunion this year, a multiple of 5 -- or do they go to 10 year increments after thirty years? Anyway, wow, 35 years ago!

I have five or six classmates on Facebook, some of whom I knew since elementary school. The benefit/burden of living in a small town is that everyone knows everyone -- sort of.

It's not so small anymore, and, even back then, we always seemed to have newcomers.

Athens would not like to see itself as a bedroom community to any other city, but, in my memory, that was one of the interesting things about the town. The Huntsville industries brought a lot of "new kids" to town, children of people who worked in the science industries. In my mind, the most notable industry was the Space and Rocket industry, led by Werner von Braun, who led the development of the Saturn rocket, that made possible JFK's vision to land earthlings on the moon. Our 10-year-old is fixin' to go to Space Camp with her school this month, at the Space and Rocket Center.

Huntsville was the place to go as a teenager, if you wanted a nice date to a movie and a restaurant (The Fog Cutter, Red Lobster, -- you know, the fancy places). Athens had no movie theater at the time, at least not with new releases. I did work in the then-new Athens Cinema in my senior year, I opened the building, turned on the big projector, and started the popcorn machine -- all processes that took a long time.

I have been thinking about Athens High School lately because of the recent acquaintance with "the other McWilliamses" of Limestone County. How much I do not know of my own heritage ... Talking with Mikal Saahir and telling others about the story of our meeting (see earlier posts) have peeled back layers of memory and associations -- and the lack of them.

In 1975, our class graduated with a history of (not sure about this) five years of desegregation. I recall that we attended the old Athens High School when the Middle School was created around the same time, and I was in the 8th grade. Those who had attended 6th grade at Athens Elementary School spent 7th grade in another school for one year, while arrangements were made for the creation of the Middle School. [Memory is notoriously unreliable without documentation, so I'm not really sure about this chronology.]

By the time 8th grade opened up at the Middle School, desegregation had happened. I remember being led into the hallway on the first day of school, each class with its white students, lined up to greet our new black classmates. The air was charged with anxiety on both sides of the hall.

How did that desegregation work that year, from a system perspective? Only later in life did I begin to think about what my new classmates lost in desegregation. Trinity School was a beloved place for a lot of people, yet it was closed down and left to deteriorate. I recall driving through "the black section of town" and seeing the weeds and vines crawling up the walls and roof. Or do I? I think I remember that.

Instead of integrating both Trinity and Athens High, Trinity was closed, and, eventually, a new high school was built on the north side of town. This new school was located on Highway 31, not far south of the junction with I-65.

As I moved on through school, in those high school years, there were incidents of violence, especially at football games, it seems to me. I was in the band, and as far as I knew, or was concerned then, the band was a place of discipline and order. Mr. Bacon and Mr. Havely ran a tight ship, and music kept us all focused. Band was my joy in high school, along with my church youth group, the UMYF at the First United Methodist Church, and, of course, my horses.

For reasons I came to understand much later in my life, high school was not a happy time for me. I felt that I did not fit in. I was a tomboy; I was not particularly popular; I didn't date much, but had a series of boyfriends. When I was a senior, I was rushed into the sorority that I thought would make my social life complete. But, I quit because it interfered too much with my horse time. [Kids are so cruel to each other. Rumors and lies drifted back to me much later, but I was too far gone to care.] Life at home was fractious. Interracial dis-harmony, Vietnam, Watergate all created a -- here comes the cliché: turbulent time in which to be a teenager. I could hardly wait to get away and go to college.

When I did go away, I kept on going. Now, I'm here in Indianapolis, with my partner, a woman, her 10 year old daughter, our three dogs, and one cat, and surrounded by inlaws/outlaws I dearly love -- and, here, it's mutual and I feel so very normal. My family of origin, however, is painfully broken. My dear dad, full of bitterness and grief, still lives in Athens. My remaining brother is in Nashville, frequently homeless (see earlier poem). Robert's wife and kids live in Florida, and his teenage daughter is doing her best to find him in herself and her friends.

I had to move to Indianapolis to meet up with some wonderful people from Limestone County, with whom I share a history that is older than Athens High School. They mention names to me of their relatives, classmates and schoolmates with whom I shared nothing in common back then. I wish I could hear some stories of both the Trinity and Athens Middle and High kids who gained something and lost something back then.

Reflections at One Year

Take a look at this photo from my great-aunt's scrapbook. If you click on it, it will open larger in another window. The "Uncle George" of the caption is George McWilliams, freed from slavery at the age of 9, in 1863. Some members of his family are on the porch of the slave cabin where I suppose George lived most of his life. How often would this family have had such a portrait taken? Look closely. A young white male has one arm around a younger man, possibly George II, and with his other hand he has his fist full of George's coat. I suppose this little white boy, a rascal for sure, is my grandfather, Bob Lee (Robert Lee) McWilliams, who disappeared from my father's life -- and my life -- when my father was 8 years old. As we say Down South, Bob Lee 'turned up dead' in the late 1970s in Salt Lake City. Word was, he was an alcoholic, and an abusive husband, who brought a lot of pain and misery to a lot of people. The Hebrew Bible says that the sins of the ancestors are visited upon the descendants from generation to generation. I consider the stories, told and untold, in my family and I believe this is true. And, yet, the drunkard womanizer, King David is the ancestor of the Christian Messiah. Irony makes such good storytelling. This story is about so much more than race and slavery; it includes layers and nuances of human misery. At one year, I ask myself, "What's the point?"

Tonight, I had a conversation with reporter Brandon Perry of the Indianapolis Recorder, the weekly paper of the African American community of Indianapolis (and beyond). Mr. Perry's article will be the fourth publication*, within two months, of the story of the meeting between Imam Mikal Saahir and me, one year ago, March 8, 2009.

One year later, I still find myself shaking my head over the unlikelihood of that meeting a year ago. Mr. Perry asked me what I would like for people to take away from our story. After a lot of rambling on, with some of my academic thoughts and personal reflections, I settled on this thought:

So much has happened since 1863, when the Emancipation Proclamation went into effect in North Alabama and Southern Tennessee, when my great-great-grandfather, James LaFayette McWilliams freed from slavery the nine-year-old George McWilliams. Let me break that down, in case it isn't clear. In 1863, the Emancipation Proclamation was enforced for Jim Fate McWilliams and other slave owners in the Tennessee Valley region. I do not for one moment think George McWilliams would have been freed from slavery any other way. There was no magnanimity in the action of Jim Fate McWilliams.

Now, on the one year mark, I have a lot more questions than I did on that day Mikal and I met for the first time. Firstly, why or how did his family come to know and hold and cherish this story of emancipation? I had no idea of this story, and could have lived out my remaining days without knowing it, had events not conspired (a G-d thing?) to bring us together in Indianapolis, IN, far away from Elkmont and Athens, in Limestone County, Alabama.

Secondly, what happened to little 9-year-old George on that day in 1863? He had a brother, bought by the McWilliams family at the same time, some time in their young childhoods. A third brother was bought by the Yarbrough family. What happened to him? Where did little George and his brother live? Who took care of these children? Were there other slaves in the McWilliams estate at the time? I know, from the photos gathered by MIkal's family, that George McWilliams continued to live on the McWilliams property, living in the cabin that was the slave quarters, at least according to tradition. Were there others? Did any adults, taking the McWilliams name, leave the estate and venture away from the others?

Finally, for today, how did Jim Fate McWilliams take the news of the enforcement of the E. P. back in 1863? He would have been a man in his 30s. What changed in his household, if anything did, because of the legal end to slavery?

I have none of these stories. The cloudy past of my father's "people," including the black McWilliamses, will most likely obscure this story for me for a long time. Now I have some questions for me.

What will I do with this information?
Why was my initial reaction to Mikal's introduction into my past a response from a place of guilt and shame? What is in this story that affects my ego to such an extent? Sure, it's all in the past and I can't influence it in any way. Seana said, on our vacation with friends in México last week, that I could work out my reparations with her. That was funny, a little twist on the question about, when will we ever be finished paying for the sins of the past? When will the learning be complete? Dear g-ds: if racism is over, then what kind of misery are we, in the majority, willing to continue to support in our cities? If racism is over, I need someone to explain to me what to do about this stain upon my name? If racism is over, what happened to the revolution? I missed it entirely.

What is the point of this story?

I told Brandon Perry that this story brings my situation as a white Southerner -- who witnessed the dismantling of Jim Crow and the growth of Civil Rights and my experiences in consciousness-raising efforts -- out to a place of new scrutiny, to be sure. I have my response, and it is my response. I do not speak for anyone else as I live through this awakening.

One of the main points I take away from this encounter and its ongoing revelations is a repetition of something I learned from Maya Angelou, Oprah Winfrey, and Henry Louis Gates. Human beings are 99.99% exactly the same on the chromosomal/genetic level. Without the statistically insignificant differences contained in the 1/100th of one percent amount of difference that might emerge as skin color, hair, eyes, etc., we are all the same. What violence and evil we have made of that 1/100th.

Another point is the closeness we share, unknowingly, with others around us. How amazing: Mikal Saahir and I, two McWilliamses with roots from the same county, met on a Sunday in Indianapolis, IN. Indianapolis: his home town for life, my new home since three years ago.

I gave up a while ago my firm grip on the personal G-d. Too much bad stuff happened all in a row, and my faith was not much help. Still, I am drawn to community, to people who gather in G-d's name. I am so glad that there was a place that Sunday morning, where people gathered to reflect upon the Spiritual DNA of the children of Sarah and Abraham.

What to make, then, of the meeting, that it happened at all? What's the point? Where will this journey take us from here? It is a small world -- we are all interconnected -- what happens to one affects all -- a rising tide lifts all boats -- I am sorry -- I forgive you -- these phrases are so common because theses kinds of little miracles happen so often.

What now? I am left with a feeling of Mystery, with a capital M, trembling before a grace that is beyond me, that blesses me in a particular way that feels very personal. Shall I take the Mystery personally?

*other publications:
Indianapolis Star
My corrections to the Star article are below on February 20, 2010
Focolare's Living City Magazine
Muslim Journal (article not posted online/essentially the same as Focolare's version)