It's Hard To Be Holy

EP. 62: Liza Johnson (Cont'd)

And so the thoughts formed more concretely, more personally for Liza Johnson:

If the Black Man should be angry, then didn't the Black Woman have the same right timesed to infinity? The Black Man knows only partial subjugation, but the Black Woman, she knows all. She, who has born the whips and scars of oppression alongside him, who has born his children, who has taken the brunt of his fury, who is coveted, then as quickly forgotten, who has been shunted to the side as her white counterparts voted and prospered, who is second to all, scorned by all, doesn't she have the first right to anger? Is she not the best representation of the repressed masses?

Yes, the bosses in Liza Johnson's office were contemptuous of youthful movements for action, but they were uniformly uninterested in the opinions of the feminine. There was a paternal ladder, and any maternal influence was best kept in the privacy of the family, cloistered and decorous. Of course, those same bosses would not disagree in principal with the concept of a Black Woman's right to anger, so long as that anger did not become a distraction and an embarrassment for the Man.

But what, thought Liza Johnson, is the point of equality if it isn't across the board? I want it for my race, my gender, in my schools, and in my home. Peace be upon those who did not stand for this way of things. The Jordans and Chisholms; the Cleavers and Davises, Hammers and Parks of America. What real thanks do they get? What genuine appreciation does a woman, any woman, ever experience in a patriarchal society? Men talk, women work. Men succeed, women are forgotten. Wherever men are allowed to control the narrative, only men prosper.

And who abandoned Christ in His hour of need, and who had stayed by his side to the last on Golgotha?!

Who had fled Him, and who had taken Him in their sorrowful arms?!

Who had faith without proof of sight?!

Who were the first to take His mantel?!

Who tares nations apart, and who keeps them together?!

Who rants and raves, and who is left to puck up the pieces, to bury the children, to carry on in refusal for subjugation, uncomplaining and unanointed?!

The more Liza Johnson was confronted with the reality of the real world, the more she found herself alienated from the teachings of childhood. When she went to Mass and saw the priests in their brilliant robes, or when she went to work and saw the men who dictated policies of freedom, each in their own way protected by the trappings of their positions and statuses, the more she saw little use in any of their actions. The more she butted against reality, the angrier she felt herself becoming, and the more alluring physical stances became.

Why was it not righteous to take up arms in a struggle when there were no other options?
What options are left when the door is constantly shut on peace?

Why was it not the hour, the day, the century, the approaching millennium of the woman?

Yes! Liza Johnson was angry, and she was tired of pretending she wasn't! She was tired of resisting the anger. She wanted results. She wanted options. She wanted to feel certain in her choices and beliefs once more. She wanted to be free of nagging doubt. She needed to take action. She needed to put her definitive stamp on the world.

But how?!

Doubt! It takes from you your certainties, and leaves nothing in its wake.

Anger was all well and good, in the theoretical, but it couldn't be the answer, doubt hissed to Liza. Belligerent violence is always evil.

But then what do I do? What else works?!

And it was in these debates and perturbations of the soul, a desire for the shelter of her former life lived. Seeing the carefree and blithe attitudes of her friends, each more wealthy than the next, none of whom yet to experience, if ever they did, the reality of the world, made Liza Johnson wish for a return to her university days. She wished for a second chance. If she could just do it all again, if she could just go back with knowledge she had now, then she would come back into the world renewed and driven, but not with doe-eyes, not with innocent attitudes, but with keen focus. She would have belief and understanding, and they would, this time, be an unshakeable tandem. Then she would be able to leave her stamp, achieve that change she so craved.