Tag: freedom

• June 19, 2022

  Decolonizing My Bookshelf

  

  

  I first heard of Juneteenth in 2015, when I was working at a YMCA that served one of the most racially diverse zip codes in Washington state—and one of its most impoverished. I couldn’t believe that I had lived in this country for twenty-five years and never known the full story of how the institution of slavery finally came to an end.

  On June 19, 1865, two months after the conclusion of the Civil War, Union troops marched into Galveston, Texas and issued a decree that all slaves were free. It was a momentous, arriving two years after Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation. Slavery did not end that day (in fact, it persisted in the so-called Indian Territories until at least 1866), but it was a turning point and cause for celebration in the Black community, becoming the root of the holiday we know today.

  I am ashamed that I didn’t know this history. But it should not be surprising, since I grew up and was educated in a country that is in many ways still reeling from the fallout of that war and still fighting over its legacy. Black people did not automatically achieve equality with whites on that hot, humid summer’s day in Texas. That struggle continues. But I am heartened to see Black artists starting to get the recognition they deserve and Black businesses thriving. That is cause for celebration, even though we have a long way to go to atone for the sins of America’s past.

  On this Juneteenth, I’m reminded that I have much to learn. The more I listen to and read narratives by people who don’t look like me, the better off I am as a person.

  A few years ago, I made a conscious decision to try to decolonize my reading list, to deliberately seek out books by women and people of color before I reach for books written by white men. It has been an incredibly humbling and enriching experience.

  I’ve recently been on a speculative fiction kick, including Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower and N.K. Jemisin’s How Long ‘Til Black Future Month, and I’m looking forward to diving into the works of Nnendi Okorafor, P. Djèlí Clark, Tade Thompson, and others—especially stories that imagine a better future for historically oppressed communities.

  What other books or authors should be on my reading list? Shout out your recommendations in the comments and happy Juneteenth!

  —30—

  Jonny Eberle is a writer and podcaster in Tacoma, WA. His work has appeared in Creative Colloquy, Grit City Magazine, and All Worlds Wayfarer. You can follow him on Twitter, join his mailing list, and listen to his audio drama, The Adventures of Captain Radio, wherever you enjoy podcasts.
• November 30, 2016

  Write Like Hell

  

  The last few weeks have been tumultuous in this country, in my circle of friends, in my own life. After a major political upset on Election Night, many are worried about the direction we’re headed in — and rightly so. We’ve elected a man with disturbing authoritarian leanings; who believes dissent should be punished and advocates for limits on our First Amendment rights to free speech, religious exercise, peaceful assembly, and the press.

  As an artist, I am deeply troubled by these remarks, however off-hand they may seem. Even a veiled or vague threat against free expression is a threat to be taken seriously. What are creative people supposed to do when a person who makes those kinds of threats assumes the highest office in the land?

  Write like hell.

  Whatever your medium, use it. Write stories, poems, protest songs. Scupt, paint, dance, blog, or tweet. Art has always been there to challenge structures of power.

  • In 1945, Boris Pasternak started writing Doctor Zhivago on paper that was sent to him by the widow of a friend who had been executed by the Soviet Union for his poetry. Pasternak’s novel dared to question the bloodshed of the revolution and his manuscript had to be smuggled out of the country to be published (it was later smuggled back in by the CIA).
  • In the 1960s and ’70s, musicians wrote songs protesting the Vietnam War and highlighting its many injustices, like Creedance Clearwater Revival’s Fortnate Son, a song about how the rich and well-connected were able to keep their sons from going to war.
  • This year, 130 writers and journalists were jailed after an attempted coup in Turkey, including novelist Aslı Erdoğan, whose novels, stories, and articles deal with human rights, violence against women and Kurdish rights.

  Your work could be protest, but it doesn’t have to be. A friend and I are redoubling our efforts to write a how-to guide for people to have respectful political conversations. It’s nothing new or earth-shattering, but with luck, it can be a small part of the solution to the toxic partisan environment that surrounds American politics.

  The world needs art. Especially art that unflinchingly holds up a mirror to us and our society. Art that nudges people to think and question and come to their own conclusions. Write about what you’re passionate about. Write with conviction. Write the truth. The pen truly is mightier than the sword.

  — 30 —

  Jonny Eberle is a writer in Tacoma, WA. You can find him on Twitter or working on any one of a dozen writing projects. Thanks for reading.
• August 5, 2013

  Day Three: Pirates of the Oregon Trail

  

  The open road is synonymous with freedom. If you have wheels, you can go anywhere you want. The further I get from Arizona, the more free I feel. Not to say that I felt trapped in Flagstaff, but going somewhere new on my own is extraordinarily liberating. The stresses are miles in the rear view mirror. Ahead, lies the future.

  We left Susanville early and struck out for the Oregon state line. The road snaked up through open farmland and rugged hills with sparse stands of young pine. Soon, though, we were enveloped in lush, dense forest. Trees ten stories high loomed on either side of the mountain roads, as if forming a tunnel for us. Everything is strange — especially having an attendant pump your gas.

  

  Oregon is gorgeous; full of mountains and hidden lakes. Compared to the vast desolation of Nevada, it is an alien planet. I can only imagine the awe it must have struck in the hearts of Lewis and Clark when they paddled through the Cascades. It’s no wonder so many set out on the Oregon Trail in the 1840s to claim their little plot of paradise.

  As we meet up with the I-5 (the first real freeway we’ve seen in days), Will and I feel energized. The desert sucks you dry, but the forest rejuvenates. Rolling through Portland at a quarter to ten at night, we decide to push on into the night. There was a couch in the middle of the road that we almost hit and the truck says it requires an oil change, but we will not be deterred. Tacoma is starting to appear on the road signs. We’re too close to stop now.

  We don’t get into Tacoma until after midnight and Stephanie is waiting up for us. It takes a while for me to realize that this is my new home; that these strange sounding names (Point Defiance, Nesqually, Umpqua) will soon be familiar.

  We’ve crossed more than 1,350 miles and five states to get here. I’m far from my roots; free to start over in a foreign land. The journey is over and it’s beginning.

  

  — 30 —

  Jonny Eberle is a writer who just moved from Flagstaff, AZ to Tacoma, WA. You can follow his exploits on Twitter or connect with him on LinkedIn.

  Related Posts:
  Day Two: Ninja Cows
  Day One: Oasis
  A Writer’s Identity
• May 28, 2012

  The Last Full Measure of Devotion

  

  My grandfather spent two weeks in the military during WWII, during which he passed out during drills and battled a mysterious illness in the infirmary before being discharged. Before him, I had a great-grandfather and a great-grand uncle who served in the trenches of WWI. On my father’s side, my uncle was on a Marine on a ship in the Caribbean during the Cuban Missile Crisis. Still, I don’t consider myself to be part of a military family. My forebears wisely made it a point to avoid getting shot at. Most of what I understand about the Armed Forces is by proxy.

  

  Much of my childhood was spent near Nellis Air Force Base and several of my friends had enlisted parents. On the morning of September 11, just a couple weeks after I moved to Flagstaff, a girl in my class broke down crying because she knew her father was going to war. Beyond these brief encounters, I know very little about military service.

  I’m not patriotic in the popular sense. I don’t own a red, white and blue lapel pin. I don’t pledge my allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. I guess four years of studying political science have left me more than a little cynical.

  Despite my criticism, I know I live in a remarkable place — a place where I can criticize to my heart’s content. I may not have faith in the government, but I have faith in the promise. I believe all people are created equal. It may not always be true, but it is truer here than anywhere else in the world. America is an unprecedented and ongoing experiment in democracy. That’s worth protecting.

  The experiment comes at a cost. Progress often requires sacrifice. Before his execution, Revolutionary War soldier and spy Nathan Hale lamented, “I regret that I have but one life to give for my country.” I don’t know if I have that kind of devotion for my homeland, but there are many who do. Today, I remember and am humbled by their selflessness.

  

  Someday, I hope we will grow out of our fascination with war. Someday, I hope we will live in a world that no longer needs armies or soldiers; where I won’t worry about my friends who dutifully wear the uniform. But until there is peace, we need people willing to give up everything — people like my grandfather, Paul, my great-grand uncle, Boyd, and my great-grandfather, Charles, and my uncle Jim.

  This Memorial Day, I’m grateful for the sacrifices of the men and women who have given — in the words of Abraham Lincoln — the last full measure of devotion.

  

  — 30 —

  Jonny Eberle is a writer and photographer in Flagstaff, AZ who can’t decide whether to write his byline in first or third person. He likes long walks on the beach, alliteration and publishing pithy posts on Twitter: @jonnyeberle.

  [Disclaimer: The families of the soldiers whose names are pictured above are in no way associated with the author or his views.]

  Update: I just found out that my Uncle Jim on my Father’s side spent 4 years in the Marine Corps. I salute him and maintain my thesis.