“I don’t wanna be brave. I just wanna be safe.” – Lyrics from “The Most Vicious Cycle,” by Kesha.

Two must-watch videos. Two approaches to get out the youth vote. One is of the mind, and one goes straight to the gut.

In the first, Barack Obama, showing off his signature combination of brain and wit, obliterates the seven most often repeated excuses why young voters fail to show up at the polls.  The most spot-on moment is when Obama narrates over an image of a bespectacled, white-haired lady and asks, “You wouldn’t let your grandparents pick your play list, so why would you let them pick your representatives who will determine your future?”

The second video, called “The Most Vicious Cycle,” was produced for March for Our Lives, the gun-control advocacy group founded by survivors of the mass shooting that stopped short the lives of seventeen teens at the Marjory Stoneham Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. The video powerfully inserts the viewer into the moment in a high school corridor when bullets fly and the sound and blast of gun fire shatter the every day. Music and rap lyrics are by singer Kesha, and production is by Sage Sebert, a graduate of Marjory Stoneham Douglas.

I dare you not to chuckle at one and cry with the other. But after you’ve finished, share these videos and talk about them with your friends and family. Then work like hell to make sure that the people in your lives get out and vote.

Here’s what March for Our Lives wrote upon the video’s release: “After every shooting, there’s outrage, prayers and false promises. Then it happens again. End #TheMostViciousCycle. Vote for morally just leaders and share the video.” #VoteForOurLives on 11/6.

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As a lifelong Democrat and now a high schooler, I have realized just how many of us there are in St. Louis, especially in the Trump era and the recent rise in youth activism regarding gun violence. Thus, St. Louis now has an organization dedicated to high school Democrats. We have had several meetings, met with many elected officials and public servants, and, on Saturday, July 14, endorsed five races in the upcoming August 7th primaries. This was a great way to get involved in the upcoming election and make your voice heard.

The races included US Senate, Missouri’s 2nd Congressional District, St. Louis County Prosecutor, Missouri House District 79, and Missouri House District 81. At the meeting, the Democratic candidates of in these races each spoke for a few minutes and then answered audience. Afterwards, the high schoolers voted on whom they wanted to endorse.

The results were: Claire McCaskill for US Senate; Cort VanOstran for Missouri’s 2nd Congressional District;  Wesley Bell for St. Louis County Prosecutor; Lakeysha Bosley for Missouri House District 79; and Travis Estes for Missouri House District 81.

The members of this organization have since campaigned for the endorsed candidates by knocking on doors, calling voters, and writing postcards. Of course, there has been much social media outreach as well. High schoolers love Instagram, Snapchat, and Twitter, posting their support for candidates, and the candidates have made the endorsements evident on their pages.

Endorsements have become a bigger and more intense part of campaigns and races. Candidates strive to get as many endorsements as they can and then remind voters of them often. With this engagement, and with the desire to reach out to young voters, candidates in many of Missouri’s races wanted St. Louis High School Democrats’ endorsement. This competition for endorsements adds another level to a race, and endorsements can make or break a vote.

Claire McCaskill’s campaign sent a representative, and we endorsed her as the Democrat for US Senate. As for Missouri’s 2nd Congressional District, the Democrats who attended the meeting were Cort VanOstran, Mark Osmack, and Bill Haas. Most of their discussion focused on democratic ideals and defeating Ann Wagner. VanOstran talked about healthcare, Osmack about military experience and spending, and Haas about third grade reading levels and a violence prevention hotline.

Wesley Bell represented the St. Louis County Prosecutor race, while Bob McCulloch has again not showed up to a forum and meeting he has been invited to.

The other races were for two house districts that are both part of St. Louis City, 79 and 81. For the 79th district candidates, Lakeysha Bosley spoke about being a woman and representing the district, and J.P. Johnson talked about his experience in politics as an intern and field organizer. In the 81st race, Travis Estes noted that he is the only pro-choice candidate in the race and also that he has experience in the tech world and will use this to implement policy, such as gun registration. Steve Butz was not in attendance, but his campaign manager was. She talked about his views, morals, and experience.

The best part of this meeting was that Democrats were able to come together and talk about what is needed, especially in Missouri. We high schoolers were able to have a voice and be involved in these races, even though most of us won’t be able to vote.

The post St. Louis High School Democrats endorse candidates in area primaries appeared first on Occasional Planet.

Recently, our nation has seen an uprising of activism by young people like me. There has been a lot of talk about this generation being the future, and demanding change, and winning. There is also debate about whether young people should be called millennials or iGen or Gen Z. Regardless of what we are called, our generation has potential and power. From the March for Our Lives to Youth and Government, young people have already changed the current state of democracy and used their voices as active citizens. Unfortunately, there are kids in this generation who are addicted to their phones or juuls or who eat tide pods, but others—young activists and change agents—are trying to participate in conversations that affect them and not allow politicians to push them aside.

After 17 people were killed in Parkland, Florida, the students at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School began a movement, talking about their experience and demanding change in government policies.  Youth and Government, a national program of the YMCA, allows students to participate in mock government, learning how democracy should work and giving young people the opportunity to have a voice and use it in the greater community. Both of these activities, as well as  many other schools, organizations, and groups of young activists, have seen injustice. They want an opportunity to make differences in their communities and in the nation at-large.  The Parkland survivors are on a Road to Change, traveling the country, having discussions with activists , and registering people to vote. Students participating in Youth and Government, Model UN, and the Conference on National Affairs are writing and debating pieces of proposed legislation and resolutions, addressing the issues of our world, and building a community of future lawyers, lawmakers, and citizens invested in bettering democracy. Young people are in the media, in the streets protesting, interning for politicians, representing states and countries, and becoming sources of active citizenship, world awareness and political power.

While many are inspired by young people and the work they are doing, others do not see a place for them in government. Some have criticized the Road to Change, saying that it does not do much, that it is only talk, that most people are registered to vote so there is no action that will create change, and that  government should decide policy and law. Young people hear the arguments that they are too young, not mature enough, or incapable of having their own political views yet. Many are seen as being used by adults, politicians, or corporations. As a young person, I find that argument offensive, because we are fully able to have our own morals and stances and express them as we see fit; most of us are not being exploited by people who see opportunity in using young people to further an agenda.

As much as I love being an “activist” and going to town halls and marches and all of these events that are “demanding change,” I want to see action. I want to do something. I can talk with other like-minded people, make as many signs as I can, protest everywhere in my city, attend town halls and ask politicians questions, but our government and nation need to take action and let the young generation have a seat at the table. The best way we can do this is by voting, registering people to vote, trying to reform voting, voting corrupt politicians out and true public servants in, getting young people into the national debate, and carrying out our civic duty. We need to create an increase in voter turnout, pass laws that uphold our standards of democracy, expect accurate media reports, engage in civil discourse across party lines, support organizations that help minorities, and promote political actions that are more about human rights than money.

Young people are the future. We are starting now with this movement and activism, learning how to be leaders and then becoming them. We are being told that we can do great things, and change the world, and fix the problems of prior generations, but are we being given the resources and opportunities to prepare and to be effective? Whether people like it or not, young people’s voices will continue to call out party politics and focus on what is needed in society. Yes, we will continue to march and protest and talk, but we need to act and to not only demand change, but to make change happen. Our actions will make the difference.

The post We’re young, we’re politically active, and we’re coming to your town appeared first on Occasional Planet.

The newly released movie Moonlight is a very quiet film with a powerful impact. It’s absorbing, thought-provoking and emotionally exhausting, with performances that are breathtaking. But I wonder if anyone is going to go to see it. The 16-screen theater where we saw it this afternoon offered only one showing—at 3:30—in a dine-in screening room that seated only 50 people.

If that limited availability is typical, it’s very unfortunate, because Moonlight should be on everyone’s watch list.

The story follows the main character, Chiron, from his childhood years in a struggling African-American neighborhood in Miami, through high school and young adulthood. He’s a quiet [almost completely silent, actually]  kid—ignored by his drug-addicted mother, bullied by his neighbors and classmates, and mentored—for a time—by a drug dealer who has retained a sense of decency. We follow Chiron as he grows up, with the three stages of his life portrayed by three different actors [each of whom gives a stunning performance.] It’s a heartbreaking story.

But beyond summarizing the plot, it’s almost impossible to describe this movie. Unlike many of the formulaic movies that draw big box office returns, Moonlight does not fit well into a single category.

It’s not a “black” movie—although all of its characters are African-Americans, its setting is a black community in Miami, and there’s a lot of vernacular that this aging white lady in a suburban bubble doesn’t usually hear. Unfortunately, AMC Theatres apparently thinks it is, indeed, a “black” movie. How do I know? Because 4 out of 5 of the previews that precede it are movies featuring predominantly black actors. That categorization does this movie—and all audiences—a disservice. “Moonlight” focuses on black characters, but tells a story that is far broader.

It’s also not just a “coming out” or “gay” movie, although the main character is bullied, as a child and throughout middle- and high-school, by others who call him a “faggot.” It takes him years to discover who he is, and even more years to accept and act on that aspect of his identity.

Nor is it a “love story,” in the conventional sense. You could say that Chiron eventually learns to accept himself, and discovers that he is capable of loving someone else, and saying so out loud. But you don’t get that until very late in his story—and the future of that self-actualization is not certain.

I can’t comment on the verisimilitude of the story and the characters, because I’ve lived a completely different—privileged, protected, insulated—life. But I don’t think you need to have lived Chiron’s life to appreciate the damaging effect that parental rejection and cultural ostracism can have on a person, regardless of skin color, culture, socio-economic circumstances, neighborhood or other factors. Chiron is oppressed—for reasons he doesn’t understand and can’t control—and repressed as a result. His is not just “black” suffering, it is human pain.

I don’t know what else to say. I’m sure there’s a lot that I missed and didn’t understand because of who I am. But that didn’t stop me from aching for Chiron as a human being.

The Hollywood establishment has believed, for essentially its entire history, that “nobody” [meaning, of course, white people] will go to movies with African-Americans in lead roles. Please seek out this remarkable film—primarily because it’s just a damn good movie—and, as a by-product, to prove them wrong.

The post Moonlight: Powerful, quiet, heartbreaking movie appeared first on Occasional Planet.

“Al-lah, Al-lah!” Go home, you filthy terrorist!”

At least, those were the words I think I heard. To be honest, I sort of shut off when he threw them at me, so there may have been more words there or in a different order; I can’t recall. I don’t want to recall.

When he threw them at me, driving away in his black sedan with his angular white face contorted in anger, I froze. Al-lah, Al-lah! Go home, you filthy terrorist! I had been crossing the street a few minutes from home to get food; it was near 1 pm, and like every other college student, it meant I had just rolled out of bed, hungry for brunch. I was wearing grey sweatpants, my favorite baggie hoodie with my high school logo emblazoned on it, and a bright blue headscarf with vibrant yellow flowers tied loosely around my head. Whether or not Marletto’s would have waffles was practically the only thing on my mind that moment; the street was deserted except a few cars turning at the intersection, and nothing called my attention away from impending golden syrupy Saturday afternoon brunch. Except him. Al-lah, Al-lah! Go home, you filthy terrorist!

I haven’t managed to erase his face or the intonation of his voice from my memory yet. Or the way it filled with rage. He meant what he said. What would have happened if I wasn’t crossing the street opposite him? If I was closer? If the words hadn’t been thrown over his shoulder at a distance as he sped away, but right next to me? Al-lah, Al-lah! Go home, you filthy terrorist!

It was only robotically that I finished crossing the street and walked up the steps to the dining hall. All the words of strength and indignant messages about being more than other people’s hate flew out my head, replaced with his. I shriveled into myself. My mind was still swirling around where I had been standing when he shouted. Al-lah, Al-lah! Go home, you filthy terrorist! I was a little numb, a little shell-shocked and confused, a little distressed, and a lot frightened.

It must have shown, because the one woman who had crossed the street across from me– on his side– looked at me in concern when I got to the top of the stairs. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” she said. It popped me back to reality for a moment, so I did what I do best, smiled and said “thank you” because I know that kindness and sympathy in the face of hatred is far more rare than the hatred itself.

Al-lah, Al-lah! Go home, you filthy terrorist!

I thank God I kept walking into the dining hall where people were everywhere. I might have cried otherwise. I don’t cry. And I refuse to shed a tear for him now. But at that moment, I just didn’t want anyone to see me.

I was inside. I was safe. He couldn’t see me. Al-lah, Al-lah! Go home, you filthy terrorist!

I wandered aimlessly around where they were serving food, seeing it but not seeing it. I didn’t reach for any food, my plate remained empty. My appetite was gone. His words were still echoing in my ears. Al-lah, Al-lah! Go home, you filthy terrorist! I didn’t know that actually happened except in stories. It does.

I smiled at the people around me. The woman from earlier realized I was a student here and asked for directions to Stage 3; I showed her where to go with a smile. She seemed a little confused that I had gone from that troubled mask of emotions to such a wide smile, but accepted it, thanking me for the directions.

And then I realized I had to walk back home. Alone. On the same street. He was gone. He had sped away. But I was afraid.

Rationally, I knew there was no reason to be, but rationality wasn’t loud in that moment. The fear was louder. Al-lah, Al-lah! Go home, you filthy terrorist!

My heart was pounding. I clenched my fists in my hoodie, pulled in my arms close to me, hunched my shoulders, and took small, sharp steps quickly. I was afraid to take up too much room as I went. If I took up less space, I was a smaller target.

I walked far from the curb, far from the street, on the sidewalk. I wanted to get away from the view of the street as far and as fast as possible. If I was between buildings, he– they– couldn’t see me. Every black sedan was a new rush of panic that pushed me further from the curb. Al-lah, Al-lah! Go home, you filthy terrorist!

I didn’t look up at anyone. Didn’t see anyone’s face. I kept my head down and marched back to my building as quickly as I could, reciting Ayatul-Kursi from the Qur’an as I went and praying nothing would happen.

Nothing did, but I was still trembling some from the adrenaline– and from fear– when I got back to my building. I smiled at a few of my residents, the mask of okay-ness sliding back on, but it fell off when I got into my room, and I sat on my bed, dazed. Al-lah, Al-lah! Go home, you filthy terrorist!

It was the first time someone had actually taken time from their day to hate me openly. Other people looking away in fear, disgust, or anger when I passed them on the street was nothing new. Strangers on the street unwilling to look me in the face was nothing new. Passerby aggressively pushing me out of the way if I was too slow to move out of their way was nothing new. Not feeling safe to go to a particular place was nothing new. Avoiding certain people/places/things was nothing new. Online virulence was nothing new. Reading Facebook comments to go back to my country was nothing new. Hearing ignorant remarks about Muslims was nothing new. Listening to people go on about how Muslims don’t belong in this country was nothing new. Being expected to not belong in this country was nothing new. Being othered as brown skin and a headscarf was nothing new.

But this. This was new. This was different. This was worse.

Al-lah, Al-lah! Go home, you filthy terrorist!

In many ways, it was a moment I had been expecting since I first put on my hijab a year and a half ago. But when it had never come, I hoped it never would. I knew it happened, but I hoped it wouldn’t happen to me.

Al-lah, Al-lah! Go home, you filthy terrorist! I guess it’s just a rite of passage.

Have I earned my American-Muslim badge yet? Am I an adult now? Is this what they mean when they say it’s the beginning of the rest of your life?

Maybe next time I won’t shut down to autopilot. Maybe next time I can respond with logic and reason and love and compassion and change his mind. Ask him why his heart is so full of hate. Convince him with caring that I’m not bad. I’m not a terrorist. This is my home. This is my home.

I’m not telling you this story because I want your sympathy. I don’t want your pity. I don’t want your feigned empathy. I don’t want you to comment “sorry” below. I know I’m not skilled enough with words to make you truly understand what happened. I still don’t understand what happened. But this is my home.

In the grand scheme of hateful things that happen every day, this wasn’t even that bad. No one was followed or stalked, no one was assaulted, no one was hurt, no one’s life was threatened.

I will do my best to forget this ever happened. I want to wipe it from my memory, erase his words, and keep going. I will pretend it didn’t happen to me. It’s just a story I read. But I will not forget the lesson. I will not forget that. This is my home.

And I want you to know it. Know this is my home. I belong here. I will stay here. He cannot stop me. You cannot stop me. You cannot take that away from me. This is my home.

And I want you to know that this– this right here– is what happens when we institutionalize xenophobia.

I want you to watch the news and think that right now there is another teenager, another child, another adult, another person listening to the same hatred because the Donald Trump-s, the Ted Cruz-s, the Ben Carson-s, the Mike Huckabee-s, the Newt Gingrich-s, the Rick Santorum-s of the world have been given a political platform to stand on, a primetime spot on national television 24/7, and all the legitimacy high poll numbers can conceed.

I want you to think about this when you cast your vote, and then think harder if this is what you’re supporting with that ballot.

This is my home.

The post When hate hits home: A Muslim-American’s story appeared first on Occasional Planet.

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I recently wrote an article about microaggressions, after helping to organize a movement on St. Louis’ Webster University campus, to try to address systemic discrimination. As part of that effort to create change, students wrote letters to the administration describing student experiences with prejudice and discrimination.

And now I want to take a moment to share some of the stories of Webster University students with you. A few students have given me permission to share parts of the letters they wrote to the administration in this article.

First, let me expound on the idea of the letters. We wrote a summary letter that explained the purpose of the letter campaign and framed the movement. This is an excerpt:

“Webster University prides itself on diversity, inclusion, and internationalization. We know you as president believe in dedicating the institution to furthering the cause of global citizenship and participation; for that we commend you…Webster is one of the largest global institutions in the world, and we want to help it reach the high standards to which you and the Webster community hold it…

We want to do our part to help you ensure that each and every student at Webster University has the same quality education– the same pleasant and engaging experience– unimpeded by issues of prejudice or hatefulness.

These letters contain countless experiences of Webster students regarding issues of diversity and inclusion; unfortunately not every student or every classroom meets the high standard of global excellence upon which Webster prides itself. The incidents detailed herein are neither novel nor isolated…We hope they help you in the process of change, and we look forward to your response to resolve these pandemic issues.”

Many students wrote to the administration anonymously, fearing retaliation, but refusing to be silent on such an important topic. I will respect that request for anonymity here.

The letters describe a range of experiences with prejudice, microaggressions, and oppression at Webster; students detailed discrimination in many forms, in many places, and based in many sources. They depict the pain of racism, sexism, homophobia, classism, heterosexism, ableism, Islamophobia, cis-sexism, transphobia, and the numerous other -isms and forms of hatefulness that impair, paralyze, and deeply pain.

There are a few common themes we identified of major issues we found on campus. The first is the obvious exclusion of minority students.

Concerned Student writes:

“I have experienced difficulties finding opportunities to participate in the Webster athletics teams… While these teams have been doing great job looking in from the outside, on the inside there have been a lot of problems. When in high school, I desired to be recruited by Webster University and try out for the team when that time came. Unfortunately, after several unresponsive emails and leading messages from the coaching staff I felt completely ignored and that my past experiences were of little value. Yet, my peers around me who would be classified as “white-caucasian” have had no troubles communicating with coaches,… receive special treatment, and have had several opportunities to leave and come back to the team while I, a person of color, haven’t even had a chance to try out…

I plead with you please start making an effort to support and listen to your students to make this a better place for all students to attend where we can fully embrace our differences and feel welcome in the environment.”

This is compounded by slews of insensitive comments by students, faculty, and staff alike.

Anonymous wrote:

“I wish people would understand that yes I am African-American but my experience wearing this skin should not be generalized by stereotypes. I do not always know the newest dance craze, certain “slang”, or have a valid opinion on issues that have involved other African-Americans. I just want to be seen as an individual that has her own experiences and whose actions are not justified just because I am African-American. Students also constantly find that professors don’t understand these issues– that rather than being educated, students are having to educate their teachers.”

I wrote:

“A professor has continually referred to me as “her Muslim student.” When she mentioned in class how I sat next to her at an event and her “Black friend sat on her opposite side,” she said she felt like she was “in Diversity Central.” Aren’t I worth more than my skin color? Isn’t my value as a human being worth more than dark skin and a headscarf?”

Lara Hamdan, a Webster student studying International Relations and Journalism, said:

“Sometimes I feel unsafe mentally. I am of Middle Eastern decent, so I have a different point of view on certain issues. They are not conflicting with American values, just different. But I have found that I feel limited to what I can share or express in some classrooms due to some I do not want to silence the professor, or have them feel as if they cannot fully teach what they intended. But rather, I would like to see them bring in outside perspectives, to give students the chance to have a wider point of view, not just the view of their upbringing or their professor. I have had professors openly teach incorrect “facts” about the Middle East or the religion of Islam. It would be much more reasonable to bring in an expert in the field to address those issues, rather than to make false claims.”

Students are constantly called out to speak for their entire identity group.

Anonymous wrote:

“At the beginning of my freshman year here at Webster, Michael Brown was shot and killed in the streets of Ferguson. A few days after, looting took place and many businesses in Ferguson were ruined, as a result. In one of my classes my teacher spoke of the many tragedies that had taken place and asked the class how they felt. Especially myself and another African-American student in the class stating that he hated to ask “this question” from us. Honestly, I did not know what to think or say and had not even processed everything that had taken place in Ferguson in a short period of time. Why should I represent the entire African-American population on such a serious question?”

I wrote:

“I have been asked point-blank by a professor in front of the class to act as a mouthpiece for my racial, (perceived) national, ethnic, gender, or religious identities. In methodological terms, the sample (me) is not representative of the population. But I am supposed to speak for all people because people label us the same way? Pardon, but that doesn’t make sense to me at all. And I know with the utmost certainty that I am not the only one placed repeatedly in such a position; other students are asked to represent their racial, national, ethnic, gender, religious, sexual, SES, etc. identities. And it’s demeaning. It hurts.”

We talked about blatant inadequacies in Webster policies where the university fell radically behind on progress.

A Student Looking For Change wrote that Webster is widely considered a forward-thinking, progressive, “LGBTQ-friendly” school but, disappointingly, fails to live up to that standard several times over:

“I am disheartened and disappointed to express that Webster’s commitment to forward-thinking inclusion seems to have slowed in progress and withered in reach… The administration has yet to make policies that would provide trans* students with safe, comfortable restroom options in all buildings. Students have also expressed interest in an African American Studies program, as well as an LGBT Studies program. In response, the administration stated more students must to take these types of classes before creation of such programs can be considered. This, though, is a faulty argument. Students have trouble finding these classes when registering because there is not one encompassing prefix to use when searching for these classes. Therefore, there are systematic obstacles one encounters when attempting to register for these classes.”

But the letters weren’t all pessimistic. There are many, many opportunities for change.

Andrew Wagner, a junior Sociology major “passionate about justice” warned:

“The solution to these problems is listening to people of color who have been oppressed by these institutions and going forward with their guidance. As Webster University seeks out students of color to help pave the way forward, I would like to put forward a word of caution to the administration as they seek to listen. Patricia Hill Collins who is a critical race social theorist says this, ‘Oppressed groups are frequently placed in the situation of being listened to only if we frame our ideas in the language that is familiar to and comfortable for a dominant group. This requirement often changes the meaning of our ideas and works to elevate the ideas of dominant groups.’ My hope is that the administration at Webster will seek to listen to not only the words that are easy to swallow, but also the words that are difficult to stomach.”

Lara suggested diversifying our faculty, staff, and student bodies so that our campus is as diverse in actuality as it is in advertisements and refusing to raise tuition rates because they “marginalize people of lower income households.”

“We see the many flags above our heads as we walk in the University Center, but once we lower our heads, we don’t see the diversity represented. I hope you take the time to listen to your students needs and take the proper steps to address them. The students are willing to uphold their part if the administration is willing to do the same.”

At the meeting, we also discussed including questions assessing professors’ ability to conduct their class without prejudice, having a staff working at the administrative level to address issues of diversity and inclusion in the classroom rather than one individual, creating a student panel to hear cases of discrimination in the classroom so that students feel there is an approachable entity to whom they can address their concerns (at the moment, there isn’t, which is why so many of these issues go unchecked), having a day that operates like Webster Works Worldwide where the whole Webster community can come together to address these issues in a collaborative and constructive manner, and– most importantly– mandating training for faculty and staff on power and privilege and oppressive structures because currently no such training exists for any Webster employee as far as anyone can tell.

As I said, nothing has come of any of these suggestions yet. The administration has not made any visible changes and none of the grand promises we’ve heard and read tens of times have borne any fruit. But we’re not giving up. We’re stubborn, and we’re here to stay.

The post Prejudice on campus: Are you listening, administrators? appeared first on Occasional Planet.

I’m way past the age when worrying about menstruation is a big part of life. But I’ll never be too old to be outraged by the way men have—for millennia—cursed, shunned, denigrated and mocked women regarding the female, monthly reproductive cycle. So, while Donald Trump’s attack on Megyn Kelly is despicable, it’s not that unexpected or uncommon.

And, though I have aged out of the tampon era, I still vividly recall the anxiety that my period sparked every month: Did I have a tampon in my purse, just in case? Would I have an unusually heavy flow that might leak out and stain my clothes? At the time, I didn’t understand that those fears were part of the societal shame attached to menstruation. But they were.

Years after I reached puberty and was already fully immersed in my monthly, shame-tinged routine, I learned about the Orthodox Jewish practice of “family purity,” which dictated that a married Orthodox couple could not have sexual relations during the woman’s menstrual period. Among religious Jews, that dictum was taken as a matter of course, and because it was so far removed from my way of life, I didn’t think much about its implications. Even later, I learned about the many other religions and societies that had similar practices—all of which characterized women, because they bled monthly, as “unclean.”

I heard the “riding the rag” jokes. I joined in with the other girls who used code terms, like “the curse,” and “my little red friend” rather than call menstruation by its real name. I worried, like others back in the day when we wore “sanitary belts” and pads, that someone might notice the extra bulge created by a Kotex pad and figure out my embarrassing personal secret—that I was having my period.

It was only in the consciousness-raising 1970s that it began to dawn on me that it was absurd to allow myself to feel embarrassed by the natural rhythm of my reproductive cycle. And since then, my outrage has only grown.

Today, I can’t help but wonder how so-called “pro-life” Republicans can claim to value the lives of fetuses, while mocking the reproductive cycle itself. How can you be “pro-life” but anti-uterus and vagina?

So, I take great pleasure when I read that, in the aftermath of Donald Trump’s disgusting remarks, women have been live-tweeting their periods to him using the hashtag #periodsarenotaninsult.

@realDonaldTrump — on the third day of my period AND still a functioning member of society! Who knew?!”

@realDonaldTrump Just finished menstruating. I still don’t like you. Guess it had nothing to do w/ my period,”

@realDonaldTrump I’m getting my period this week. I’ll make sure to keep you updated,

@realDonaldTrump Its called a vagina and you came out of one, thanks to her period! #periodsarenotaninsult oops!

And I find it very heartening to read that, as a protest against period shaming, Kiran Gandhi ran the London marathon without a tampon, allowing herself to finish the race with menstrual blood staining her running pants.

It’s also encouraging to see that Rupi Kaur managed to shame Instagram for deleting her photo depicting a situation that many women experience during their menstrual cycles—blood-stained pants. She reposted it on Facebook, and it went viral. I applaud Kaur’s effort to take these images, which she says, “are natural to women, but taboo to society, and make them normal again.”

Several teenaged girls I know have recently begun their periods. I wish that they could celebrate their entrance into womanhood—as girls in some societies do, with “moon ceremonies.” But I know that, instead, they are already feeling the embarrassment that our society still attaches to this critical—if, admittedly, inconvenient—aspect of being a woman. I can only hope that, during their reproductive years, American society will grow up a bit, too, and let women be women without shame.

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President Obama has repeatedly exhibited key characteristics of a strong leader. He is decisive when necessary; reflective when appropriate, and clear in his vision for the United States and the world. One attribute that he has not presented is the ability to apologize when he says or does something that he later regrets. Such an apology or reversal may be appropriate now, in light of the President referring to those who broke the law in the Baltimore disturbances as “thugs.”

I am reminded of a letter (yes, a letter, not an e-mail) I sent in 1965 to then Senator Charles Percy of Illinois. Percy was a Republican junior senator for Illinois who supported President Lyndon Johnson in efforts to pass civil rights legislation addressing the widespread discrimination in the United States. Prior to being a senator, Percy was president of Bell & Howell, a manufacturer of motion picture equipment, including movie projectors.

I was most impressed with Percy’s strong civil rights statements and actions. However, I was a little taken aback when I read that, in accounting for his company’s history of supporting civil rights he said, “When I integrated Bell & Howell ……”

It occurred to me that the integration of a large corporation would have required efforts from many individuals, not just the president of the company. His comment struck me as a little self-serving and I chose to write him to suggest that he might have stated his the company’s accomplishment a little differently so as to give credit to others as well as himself.

Several weeks later I received a short note from him that clearly came from him personally. In it he wrote, “As the Scottish poet Robert Burns wrote, ‘If only we could see ourselves as others see us.’” He thanked me for my thoughts. I felt that he was open to the ideas of others and willing to reconsider what he had said.

Currently, I cannot recall an occasion in which President Obama has apologized for his words or actions. I’m sure that he does it frequently in private, and he may have done it in public when the bright lights and cameras were not on. Like many people, I would like to see him walk back from the characterization of some of the people on the streets of Baltimore as “thugs.”

Specifically, on Tuesday, April 28, President Obama condemned the “criminals and thugs who tore up” the city of Baltimore on Monday night. The next day, White House Press Secretary Josh Earnest was asked to explain why the President had used the word “thug.” Earnest said:

But what’s also true and what did get the lion’s share of the coverage out of Baltimore were the actions of a small minority that were nothing short of criminal actions. And whether it’s arson, or, you know, the looting of a liquor store, those were, those were thuggish acts. And, I think the President felt it was important, and continues to think it’s important, to draw a clear distinction between those actions and the efforts of the vast majority of people in that community to draw attention to the legitimate concerns that they have about the treatment of Freddie Gray.

There are those, now including Baltimore City Councilman Carl Stokes, who say that “thugs” has become the new ‘N’ word. He reasoned that if it was true that the Baltimore policemen has beaten up Freddie Gray, their actions might be those of thugs, but no public official was calling the police officers thugs. Stokes asked the president as well as Baltimore Mayor Stephanie Rawlings-Blake to dial back their use of the word “thugs.”

Part of Stokes’ reasoning as well as that of others is that the word “thugs” is a very derogatory term and discounts the societal factors that may have led to some youth engaging in criminal behavior. The cauldron that is inner-city Baltimore, as well as many other urban areas, is one in which children grow up in poor housing, with a lack of nutritious food and quality health care, without schools that can properly address their learning needs, and with a police presence that is often outright hostile to young people.

There is little doubt that Barack Obama the community organizer knew this and that, in fact, he knows it now. The presidency seems to have hardened him, or at least some of his rhetoric. He has repeatedly talked about killing terrorists rather than neutralizing them. He has engaged in absolutes where nuance may have served him better.

It take courage to apologize and reverse oneself. In so many ways, the President has shown himself to be a courageous man. It would be very encouraging if he could walk back the word “thugs” and stick with something that is literally true, such as “criminal behavior.”

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Standing in the rain outside a polling place today, touting my spouse/candidate for U.S. Congress–Arthur Lieber– I struck up a conversation with a young guy doing the same for two other Democrats–Tracy McCreery and Jill Schupp. His name is Rasheen Aldridge, and he was a ray of sunshine on a wet Election Day.

We talked for more than an hour, only stopping when the occasional voter showed up. It took only a few minutes for me to realize how remarkable this 20-year-old really is. And, if there are a lot more young people like him, a cynical old liberal like me can feel some renewed hope for the future.

We covered a lot of territory in our conversation. I learned that Rasheen has been fascinated by and engaged in politics for a long time. His mother ran—twice—for a seat on the City of St. Louis’ Board of Alderman, but lost. As a young teenager, Rasheen knocked on doors for her and helped out at the polls. I learned that, when he was just 8 or 9 years old, he found himself fascinated with vote counts, public-opinion polls and statistics that revealed political trends. By the time he was a teenager, he was already a political wonk.

More recently, he has helped organize minimum wage protests among fast-food workers. Last year, he lost his job at Jimmy John’s sandwich chain—presumably, he says, because of his political activism. He was fired for being three minutes late to work—an infraction that is not supposed to result in termination, unless you’ve been written up for similar violations three times, he noted. People rallied around him and staged protests to try to get Jimmy John’s to reinstate him, and that’s when he met one of the Democratic candidates for whom he was poll-watching —Tracy McCreery, who stood by him at one of the protests. “That meant a lot to me,” he said

Now, his early obsession with politics is evolving into a course of study: He’s a student at St. Louis Community College, where he’s working toward a major in—naturally—political science. He’s conversant with a lot of political issues: We talked about Claire McCaskill, Todd Akin’s 2012 “legitimate rape” gaffe, the sad prospect of a Republican takeover of the U.S. Senate, and the unfair, biased coverage of Barack Obama’s presidency.

“I think some people think Ebola is just another name for Obama,” joked Rasheen.

He gets it. He gets what politics is about, and what voting is about. He gets it in a way that too many younger citizens don’t, and that older activists—as much as we hammer away at it, have trouble getting across—because we’re….old. He’s working the polls, said Rasheen, because “politics has an impact on our lives,” adding that the people we elect make laws that affect everything we do—and too many people just don’t see that.

I love hearing that from a young person.

But what really got me about Rasheen was what he told me about his engagement in local issues—specifically, the situation in Ferguson, MO. He doesn’t live in Ferguson. But he cares, and he’s doing something positive about it. He told me that he has been in Ferguson for almost all of the 80 days since the Michael Brown/Darren Wilson incident, attending peaceful demonstrations and trying to raise awareness of the injustices of the current police and courts system.

He’s president of a group called Young Activists United, which is trying to get African-American students engaged in the political process. Right now, in anticipation of whatever announcement comes out of the St. Louis County grand jury’s investigation of the Darren Wilson case, he’s leading the group’s effort to stage peaceful demonstrations after the announcement. As we spoke, he took several phone calls from people wanting to know where the next meeting was, how to get the word out, and what the next step was going to be. [Yes, I eavesdropped a little. Sorry.]

Spending that hour or so with Rasheen was the best part of my day. I can only hope that there are a lot of other Rasheens out there, doing the political trench-work, not giving up, staying engaged, using their considerable energy, intelligence and talent to effect change, encouraging others to join up, and pushing for a better system. My generation tried, but from the looks of things on Nov. 4, 2014, essentially failed.

Rasheen’s story tells me that the torch has been passed and is in good hands.

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