Author Archives: Peter Sanford Kahrmann

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About Peter Sanford Kahrmann

Writer, disability rights advocate, civil rights advocate.

DA BOY’S OKAY

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My name’s Muggles. Sometimes da boy lets me say a few woids, not always woids da boy or others want ta hear, but I know when he says I can speak a few things, da boy means it. He’s a good boy afta all. Don’t always think so himsef, but he is.

I knowed dis boy now near all his days, since he wadn’t nuttin but up to Daddy’s knee. Yeah…lotsa good times, good memories in doze days. Boy’s Daddy a fine man. He and dat boy loved each other like sunshine and flowers, like rain and soil. Ya take one away da odder near die, which pretty much happened to da boy when Daddy died too soon for making any sense. Boy’s Daddy died and likes da sun be taken from his day, from his world, nowed I think on it some.

But I’m here to tell ya da boy’s okay, gonna be anyways. He got him a hard head and strong heart and mighty will…he be okay, sure enuff.

But da boy’s got some sharp edges on his bones dees days. Sharp edges. Like cut steel I say, cut steel. He been butted around some da past coupla years or so. I near laff my ass off when I see some talkin’ tuff about da boy. I likes to tell’m dey should knee touch da ground and tank da good lord dey didn’t know da boy some 30 years back. I seen dat boy like diesel dynamite break bones and spill red. Bust some up hospital bad and den go for some coffee. Well, maya been more’an coffee now I think on it. Like I said, dey’s some should do some knee touchin’ prayers thankin God da boy ain’t got no use no sir for breakin bones no more.

Used to wag my head laffin. See some big guy way upside a six foot and da boy break’m down like he nuttin but a big ass balsa weed. Funny shit now I think on it. Long time back, doe. Long time back.

But day boy said I could say things to ya all dat’s on my mind. And so I’m sayin the boys got some hard cut steel edges on his mind deez days…can’t say as I blame him none. I’m glad da boy’s ’bout justice deez days, justice and honesty.

Da boy’s grown up, I can tell ya, he’s grown up. But he’s always da boy to me. Good boy he is. Daddy be damned proud. Daddy be proud, and some a ya’all be grateful it ain’t 30 years back. Da boys forgives deez days. I don’t know I would, but he does.

For doze who love’m. I can tell ya times are hard but da boy gonna be okay, he already knowed dis, thought maybe he wanted me to tell ya too, so ya’all don’t worry too much.

Muggles
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THE COST OF ADVOCACY – Part II

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Seems I’ve stirred the pot a bit (Peter stirring the pot? Who would have thought?) with the last blog entry, “THE COST OF ADVOCACY.”


While some agreed with my friend’s genuine concern that I learn to pull back at times in my advocacy rather than, say, lose a job, most supported my view (a view shared by the likes of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Elie Wiesel, Mahatma Gandhi, Susan B. Anthony, Malcolm X, Nelson Mandela and others) that if you are going to be a human rights advocate, you can’t be one only when it doesn’t call on you to sacrifice or take a hit in some way.


I will not identify anyone who has responded to the last missive because those that have are people I like very much, even though, in some cases, I unflinchingly disagree with them.


One of the several who agreed with my friend’s caution said when I lose a job or take a major hit because of my unwillingness to restrain my advocacy, I “force everyone else to pay for (my) advocacy when instead of keeping quiet, getting another job, pulling back or whatever, you end up having to ask countless people including strangers to help you out because of it. Sorry, but I think your friend is right, a calm life slicing cold cuts at the deli is a perfectly acceptable way to live and also contributes to the world.”



There is no doubt working at a deli contributes to the world in a very real way. However, I would take issue with some of this person’s assertions. I don’t force anyone to do anything. Anyone who has recently helped me has done so because they care and, in most instances, are my friends. This is what friends do, it seems to me. They help each other through hard times and they don’t resent it. Not too long ago someone who is like family to me fell into hard times and I was able to send them a bit of money on a monthly basis for a little while and I felt both grate and grateful that I was able to help. So, no, I don’t force anyone to do anything.



However, this one respondent may or may not have company when it comes to the view that pulling back might be a wise thing from time to time. Yet, a closer examination of their reasoning could lead one to conclude that they are more concerned about my friends being inconvenienced than my welfare. People can share the same opinion for different reasons.



Here is what pulling back on my advocacy would mean to me (which does not mean this is what it means to others, those who agree or disagree with me). Pulling back to me means staying silent when others are being mistreated in order to keep my job, or my apartment, or home, or, for that matter, my life.



Case in point. Years ago, I moved into an attic apartment in Brooklyn after my first divorce. A close friend of mine was black. He came to see me one day. We had breakfast, talked, watched a movie, went for a walk, he went home. Moments after he left there was knock on my door. It was the landlord. They wanted to see me in their downstairs apartment. I went down to see them and they explained that while they had no problem with “his kind” visiting me, the neighbors did and so my friend could not come see me anymore.



I moved out. Was I wrong, should I have told my friend, sit tight, I’m only going to be here a year or so; you can’t come by to visit because you’re black?



A friend and I physically intervened once in a brutally violent situation on Court Street in Brooklyn when a young black man was being savagely beaten with boards and pipes because he had walked through a white neighborhood. My friend and I jumped in, shielded this bleeding battered man from a gang of more than 20 raging young whites, and, with the help of another man, kept him safe for a good 10 minutes before the police arrived.



Should we have stayed out of it so our lives would not be at risk, never mind that had we chosen to stay out of it, this young black man would almost certainly have been killed?



And what would people think the healthy choice would be were I, or they, working in a situation where blacks were called niggers or Latinos were called spics or gays were called fags or Jews were called kikes? Should silence rule so employment remains?



Don’t get me wrong. There are times when honing one’s form of advocacy is a wise choice No doubt, I could improve. We all could. But stay silent or pull back so I can keep a job or avoid inconveniencing friends? I don’t think so. Anyway, I don’t think anyone who is my friend feels inconvenienced, in large part because they know me well enough to know that if they fell on hard times, I’d help them, with joy and humility.



The best definition of humility I have ever heard was, “Humility is not thinking less of yourself, it is thinking less about yourself.”

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THE COST OF ADVOCACY

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Someone who loves me recently suggested I might want to consider pulling back on my advocacy for others when my advocacy might hurt me, or cause me to lose a job. I am moved by her kindness and caring and understand fully why she and others worry about my welfare. But I can’t hold back on my advocacy at all.


Dante Alighieri wrote, “The hottest places in Hell are reserved for those who in time of great moral crises maintain their neutrality,” or stay silent. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said, “The true measure of a man’s strength is not where he stands in times of comfort and convenience, but where he stands in times of trial and controversy.”


Whatever price I might pay for my human rights advocacy is far less than the price I would pay, emotionally, morally, spiritually and physically, if I chose silence. Moreover, whatever price I pay pales in comparison to those enduring the experience of being treated as if they are less human than others. A woman who is a good friend of mine and a survivor of brain injury recently pointed out to me that once you become disabled, you are expected to be obedient, you are expected to acquiesce to the will of others, often people that have anything but your interest at heart. She is right.


I will never sit quietly by when I see others being denied their civil rights, their right to live in dignity. For the last decade plus my advocacy has been focused primarily on people with disabilities, primarily people with brain injuries – like me. But I have and will always advocate for those who are gay, black, latino, Asian, Muslim, Jewish, etc. It is who I am.


I have lost jobs because of my advocacy. It is quite likely my current struggles can in large part be traced back to my unwillingness to keep my mouth shut when I witnessed people being denied their rights. It is a price I am more than willing to pay.


Consider the following observations:


  • If there were not millions involved in the Civil Rights struggle, we would not be referring to Barack Obama as President-elect Barack Obama.
  • Were millions not advocating for gay rights, there wouldn’t even be a dialogue about whether or not to give an official nod to gay marriage.
  • Had people not advocated, women may still not have the right to vote, black Americans would still be riding in the back of the bus and there would not be an American with Disabilities Act.
  • Were there not extraordinary consumer advocates like Ralph Nader there would not be cushioned dashboards and air bags and seat belts and more. Do you think the auto companies put them in out of the goodness of the hearts? If you do, then you have a better fantasy life than I do.

I have said more than once that I am willing to give my life in the struggle for equal rights for all. I meant it.

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HIS VOICE

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I know his voice absent the depth
Of meaning in English-accent tone
But not the depth of meaning itself

I know his voice soft gentle even
Shall we say fringed with the glow
Of hope and warm caress of kindness

I know love when I hear it
I know my father’s voice
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LIP SERVICE LOYALTY

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“I would rather come back without my arms and legs then come back without my brother,” said a World War II veteran. He and his brother were part of the June 6, 1944 D-Day invasion. His brother was killed the first day. This poignant example of loyalty to a loved one can be seen in Ken Burns’ remarkable World War II documentary, “The War”.


Sadly, this kind of loyalty is rare. What’s equally sad, though the anger that boils up in me when I encounter it delays my feeling sorry for the perpetrator, are the people who tell others they can be counted on if times get tough when, in truth, the can’t be counted on at all. I call it lip-service loyalty. Lip-service loyalists are more than willing to say they are loyal to others as long as they don’t have to be loyal to others.



For those of you who fall into this lip-service category, let me just say, shut your mouth. I mean it. Shut-up. You do damage and wound when you offer up some gussied up sentence about how loyal you are and how much you care. Those who believe you get badly wounded when they find out you are a bullshit artist, an earlier term for the lip-servicers among us.


I am not saying there is no loyalty out there. Recently I took a truly hard hit in life and even wrote an e-mail to those I believed in asking for help. In response ,some folks have been breathtakingly loyal and helpful. And then there were those who didn’t respond at all and those who said they would help and never did. Some years ago I would have told this latter group to go fuck themselves. But I think I’ll just let it go. And that’s not lip service.