jackiedoherty.org

I have always believed racism is fear—the demonizing of those who are different—based on ignorance, which is why it was hugely important to me that we raise our children in the diverse community and school system that Lowell has to offer. More than 40 languages are spoken at Lowell High School, and from the moment they enter preschool, our children are taught to accept and respect each other’s differences, whether they are ethnic, cultural, religious, food, language, or skin color.

Like many of my white, progressive, middle-class peers, I honestly believed things were getting better for our black brothers and sisters: Obama, Condoleeza Rice, Colin Powell—the names and numbers attest that we have made progress in becoming a more accepting community. But obviously, token success stories do not mean pervasive bigotry has been eradicated. I see now my optimism was naïve, wishful thinking and not routed in the reality of many black people’s daily lives.

As author Cynthia Dagnal-Myron pointed out on a segment of Democracy Now I caught on LTC channel 95 this morning: “I don’t know how much progress has been made. … [In] your day-to-day life, if you’re an African-American woman or man, you still feel the things that my parents felt. … So, for those who think that it’s over, they’re not walking in our shoes.”

Warning: if you do watch the segment linked to above, be prepared for graphic photos of Emmett Till, a 14-year old boy killed in 1955 in Mississippi. His mother, who was Dagnal-Myron’s fifth-grade teacher, insisted on an open casket so all the world could see the horror that racists had committed against this child and his family—really against all of us who wish to live in peace with each other. The connection to what happened last month to Trayvon Martin is not lost on anyone, nor is the despair from the realization that things have really not changed that much at all.

After three years of publishing online, we took a break, but now we’re beginning to re-enter the wonderful wacky world of blogging. (If a post is published but no one reads it, does it really exist? We like to think so.)  Which, of course, begs the question: “Are you still out there?” Somehow–like weight and hair styles–our blog fluctuates. Publishing these last several posts since our hiatus, we also have had some technical difficulties, and we’ve decided our old-fashioned template is not adapting well to the newer version of WordPress.

Back in the old days, when we started posting on jackiedoherty.org, we were using WordPress 1.5; our current version is in the 3s. (We’ve been offered to upgrade to 3.3, but that may bring additional glitches to the site, so we’re holding off.) In the meantime, we’re working on a snazzy new look with a new template, new photos, etc–actually, we’ll get a web developer to help with all that snazziness, and we may even get a new writer or two, so stay tuned. Don’t worry, it will still be purple in flavor and tenor (naturally), and Margaret and I will still be at the keyboards.

When we are fully back online with our new look, we will throw a huge party, take out a full-page ad in The Sun, let all the other local bloggers know, and tweet until our fingers are numb! jkjk

I’ve been reading Haruki Murakami’s novels and short stories for a long time and have often struggled with how to describe his works. His understated writing style, slight, not-always-apparent playfulness, and ultimate compassion for the human condition combine with a fearless creativity (one of his stories features a giant, talking frog) to compel the reader’s concern for the central character–often a subdued Japanese everyman/woman, usually living alone in a cheap, high-rise apartment, who gets caught up in events and forces that are beyond his or her control. The man in the aforementioned story, for example, just comes home to his apartment after a routine day, a briefcase in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other, and there is the frog. Giant. Talking. There is often a mystery at the center of Murakami’s fiction. Often the mystery is left unexplained at the end. The bewildered protagonist struggles to understand what is happening, but never does. The reader can relate. A sort of dreamy vagueness pervades some of the works and can leave a reader vaguely dissatisfied, which is how I have felt occasionally upon finishing one of his books. Yet, the unsolved mysteries represent a reality that the characters have to deal with whether they understand them or not, which is how life is, really.

In Murakami’s latest,1Q84, a blockbuster that weighs in at 900 plus pages, there are plenty of mysteries, lots unsolved at the end (again, like life), but the story is anything but dreamy. The two central characters, Tengo and Aomame, are both caught up in dangerous missions, they both sense that they are in some kind of alternate world (the extra moon in the sky is a clue), and they are both trying to find each other before it is too late. There is an Orwellian subtext, but I have to admit, I didn’t think of it that much. The story itself pulls you in and keeps you engrossed until the end.

It’s a big book, and this is a short review, but I found this latest work of Murakami to be amazing. It was gripping, suspenseful, shocking, bizarre , and, finally, quite moving. After all, life can change quickly, a metaphorical second moon can appear in our skies at any moment and utterly change our version of the universe. And, in Murakami’s world, there are people who accept reality, whatever form it takes, and deal with it, and find that they can protect themselves, their inner selves and integrity, despite what outside forces seem to prevail. There is something rather beautiful in that.

It’s been a few months now of not having to attend school committee meetings since my term ended in January 2012. I’ve had a chance to reflect on the last eight years, specifically the reasons I ran, our accomplishments during my terms in office, and the work still to come. I first ran in 2003 because I felt needed and that I could make a difference. I remember thinking, my whole life up to that point seemed to have been in preparation for running. In some ways, it was true:  my education as a writer, my work experience in teaching and corporate communications, and most significantly, my activist role and leadership on the Citywide Parent Council—all helped shape me to become a successful candidate and then a member of the Lowell School Committee.

Serving on the school committee was draining, exhilarating, exhausting, and meaningful.  It aged  and inspired me.  I was honored to do the work. If I knew then what I know now, would I still have done it? Absolutely. There’s something to be said for 20/20 hindsight; certainly there were things I would have done differently—most of all,  I would not have taken myself so seriously.

Clearly, the biggest takeaway is what I learned and what I was able to contribute to my community by being involved.  Campaigning successfully for four terms tested my stamina, communication skills, and courage. Serving for eight years taught me how to build consensus, take public criticism, and persist in reaching my goals. Through it all, I modeled for my children what it means to be an active, contributing member of a community.

I’m not saying everyone must run for political office, but each one of us must find a way to contribute to a world outside ourselves and our families–not only because we’re needed, or because it will challenge us to  personal growth, or even because it will make a difference although it will–and all those reasons are valid. We step outside our safe circle and get involved because that is how we connect to others and a purpose beyond ourselves, and that is how we make meaning of our short time here.

Below is a snapshot of a video created by Jack Pinard, at LHS Channel 22, to commemorate that service. If you can get past the crazy and varied hair styles of the last eight years, you can see me—one woman trying to make a difference. I urge you to find your way to do the same.

Running for a local seat often requires a candidate with communication skills that go beyond simply being able to stand in front of an audience and deliver pithy sound bites. In addition to being a good public speaker, a local candidate must have the skills to write and design their own print, online and broadcast campaign materials, the funds to pay others to create their copy, or a campaign staffer who can do it.

Fortunately for me, my entire career has been focused on writing using creative communication as a tool for personal branding, information and marketing, so this aspect of being a local candidate was a natural fit. It also helped that Margaret, my campaign manager, was a gifted writer, editor and graphics designer. Together, we put together some quality campaign materials.

Over the years, my favorite ones to write and produce were the radio ads. Several times, we did mini skits with children around various themes connected to education and my candidacy. When my daughter was in the fourth grade, she performed an entire radio ad, which I wrote, that went something like this: “Many of my friends will tell you the schools would be better if we got out early, had less homework, and spent more time playing instead of learning. Thank goodness, my friends aren’t old enough to vote! They don’t understand that Jackie Doherty is working hard to make our schools better at teaching us what we need to learn…. Vote for Jackie Doherty and you’ll be making a great choice.  I should know; she’s my mom!” Jovanna was fantastic.

My latest radio venture was to change the words of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” to fit my candidacy and focus. (Writing the lyrics was a new challenge.) I called it “Somewhere Over Mill City” and my dear, college friend Martha sang it for me. I taped the below video on my porch, so the sound quality does not come close to when she sang it at the WCAP studio and it aired on the radio.