Transcript

I’m Major Jackson, and this is The Slowdown.

Someone was coming down the staircase, and I was going up the staircase. The music thumped loudly. This was the last festive gathering of those gathered for a writers' conference. She said, “Hi Kelvin.” And I responded, cheerfully I thought, “Oh, that’s the other black guy. I’m Major. Don’t worry about it; this hallway is low-lit.” She froze and I continued bouncing up the stairs. It happened that quick, a truly uneventful, passing encounter. 

Six weeks later, I received a handwritten letter in the mail. It accused me of victimology. And, of course, that she wasn’t a racist and that she gives annually to the Fresh Air Fund, and … I stopped reading. I quickly became bored. I did not speak to her with rage, so I was very confused. I had forgotten about the moment.

Misidentifying happens enough that it is a cliché. Whatever. I had tried to reassure her, have her not feel bad about mistaking me for someone else. I made verbal and non-verbal gestures to say, I really do not care, that it is not worth our expended energy. I too have misidentified someone; I know how mortifying it can be, the feeling of shame, how one relives the moment over and over, wishing they could take back their words. 

Unfortunately, my joking about the moment brought no relief. Granted, to say “the other black guy” might sound like a reprimand, but it was a fact. My tone conveyed lightheartedness. Still, she insisted on projecting her — I presume — feelings of inadequacy onto me, which turned to rage in a four-page letter. 

As upsetting and misguided her screed, even this I knew: that understanding and empathy are everything for those of us who are committed to communal growth, rather than holding onto resentment or social exclusion. It is not my style to exercise a sense of moral superiority. I do not need to feel more aware than someone else. Some relish in that space of righteous anger. I wonder what is lacking in their life that they find comfort in a person’s humiliation. Why the need to punish others for forgivable blunders? I believe in grace, which arrives from a sacred belief that all of us are deserving of it. 

Today’s poem recognizes that which leads us to a place of renewal and belief in each other.

Grace
by Orlando Ricardo Menes

We cannot buy it in bulk at Trader Joe's,
Swap it for gold, or hoard shares of Grace, Inc.,
To hedge against bad luck. We acquire it
Without contract, promissory notes, or IOUs,
Neither codicils nor fine print. We gather
Grace safe from litigation or severance,
And though we might breach the strictures of creed,
It cannot be forfeited or suspended. Rather,
Grace is asymmetric, parabolic, skewed to love,
Immanent and absolute, but also unpredictable
As quantum particles, both here and there,
Both full and empty, so it might arrive
Inopportunely and thus slip under hope,
Upsetting the earnest prayer, teasing our faith,
Like some rain bands, copious cumuli,
That appear astray, unbidden, in stagnant skies
To drench at last the drought-scourged earth.

"Grace" by Orlando Ricardo Menes from THE GOSPEL OF WILDFLOWERS AND WEEDS © 2022 Orlando Ricardo Menes. Used by permission of the University of New Mexico Press.