Cowboy’s Movie Corner: Ms. Raimondo Goes to Washington

Woo-ee! Hollywood’s addiction to remakes, reimaginings and reboots has no shame. The latest moving picture to get this rehashed, cashed-in treatment is that beloved American classic and scourge of 10th graders in second period everywhere, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. The Newspaper Cowboy can report that a certain famous local sibling filmmaking duo have dusted off some old timey cliches and rewritten the script to resemble our esteemed boss, Governor Gina Marie Raimondo.

Jimmy Stewart’s kindly old Jimmy Stewart-esque boy scout troop master is replaced with an eye-talian Rhodes Scholar, plucked from the upper echelons of power to become the secretary of commerce (with product placement, of course). That Rhodes Scholar is taken under the wing of the more experienced Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen, who’s caught up in a scheme involving too many online geeks and too much GameStop stock. The script itself disintegrates after that. The famous local brothers were hoping to collaborate on their big hit Washington melodrama with famous DC fanfic writer Aaron Sorkin, but Sorkin vanished in search of some powdered inspiration.

Who Was That Masked Man?: The looey guv steps out of the shadows

P&J reckon that eight put of 10 Vo Dilunders could’t tell you the name of our looey guv, while nine out of 10 couldn’t ID him in a police lineup. Not that being mayor of Cumberland for 12 years is small change for Daniel “Who He” McKee; most non-native residents could find it on a map of the state.

This is due in part to Governor Gigi putting Who He in the shadows for most of her terms; he shouldn’t be expecting a Christmas card from DC anytime soon. But to his credit, he comes across as experienced and intelligent, and we wish him best of luck when he moves into the governor’s office. But may we suggest he wears a “My Name Is” sticker for the first couple of months?

Living for the We: Raising children, mothering a community, stepping into greatness

Black women hold multiple identities. My identities include Black woman. Mother. Activist. Community leader. Healer.

Each identity can stand on its own, yet it is difficult for me to separate them. In fact, the roles enhance each other, especially in the work that I do for and with the community. Having all of these together makes me feel empowered to find solutions that benefit not only my own family but also the community – my larger family. Being accountable to work for and on behalf of the Black community — children in particular — allows me to draw from the strength that it takes to raise my own five free and empowered Black children.

I hadn’t recognized the relationship between motherhood and leadership until it was brought to my attention; it was an “ah-ha moment” for me, so to speak. I was told that my mothering was apparent in the work that I do. Since then, several people said they definitely see how I show up in spaces as a motherly figure. I fight hard for my children, protect them, correct them when they need guidance, check in to make sure their needs are being met, work on conflict resolution and give them the tools that they need to better relate to each other, educate them, bring them together so they can be in each other’s presence, love them unconditionally and most importantly: feed them. I do the same for the community, as I see them as one in the same. The community events for my nonprofit, Sankofa Community Connection, have the same components, coming together, education and food, to name a few. I strongly believe in working collectively toward finding solutions and in supporting each other. As that saying goes and I am finding it to be more and more true: “All we got is us.”

I wanted to find more information about how motherhood, activism and leadership intersect and came across this quote by Cat Brooks, a community organizer and activist in Oakland. The message resonated with me, it moved my spirit: “Black mothering is a political project, and our mission — should we choose to accept it — is nothing short of revolutionary. Our job as Black mothers is to keep pushing the liberation ball down the court. Our obligation is to leave the world better for them and to ensure that they are equipped with the tools that they need to fight. We don’t have the luxury of living normal lives. I tell my daughter all the time — and it’s harsh — but we don’t live for the I. We live for the we.”

“We don’t live for the ‘I.’ We live for the ‘we”. That has been my entire existence out here on these Black woman, Mother, Activist, Community leader/healer streets of Newport. All of the things I do are about the WE. Being a Black mother adds extra tasks and at times it’s extremely overwhelming. We have to create safety zones, promote black joy, be a catalyst for healing, educate ourselves about our real history and where we came from so this will add a layer of protection around our children and community in a world that is full of anti-Black racism and stereotypes. We will be able to help them move past just surviving to thriving and even flourishing — finally stepping into our greatness. We have it in us.

I hope that sharing my story will help others recognize the same qualities within themselves. We all have what it takes — even if you are not a mother. Let’s build and empower each other to make collective changes and reclaim our humanity and dignity.

Dare to Imagine: Storyteller challenges listeners to dream

As a kid I devoured books. I especially loved biographies. I hated history, but loved the stories of real people. Especially stories of women. And Black people. If the stories were of Black women, I was in heaven — curled up on the couch, or lying across my bed, far from the world around me, deep in the lives lived before me. I can still remember the tattered paperbacks I read over and over again: Harriett Tubman, Conductor on the Underground Railroad, and Mary McLeod Bethune, Founder of Bethune Cookman College. In those stories I could see myself and imagine what I could be. I believed what my parents said: that I could be anything I wanted to be. My dad used to say, “You could be the next Wilma Rudolf. Or maybe you’ll be President of the of America.”

When I was finishing high school, I wanted to be Marva Collins, or at least a powerful educator like her. I remember speaking about her inspiration to me at my college interview.

When I got to Brown in 1983, I thought I would be an English teacher who directed the high school play. That seemed the logical place to combine my loves of stories and drama, teaching and learning. But when I got to Providence, I was fortunate enough to meet Ramona Bass Kolobe and her late husband George Bass of Rites and Reason Theatre. There I was fortunate to be surrounded by Black people committed to Black storytelling. I had found my place, my people.

I designed my own major in storytelling and began the practice of telling stories that had inspired me as a little Black girl growing up in predominantly white spaces (with a white mother, to boot, who was responsible for my having those paperbacks, by the way). I looked for stories I wish I had when I was in school. I remember finding a book called GREAT SLAVE NARRATIVES edited by Arna Bontemps and Langston Hughes in the discount bin at the Brown Bookstore for $2. In it I read about William and Ellen Craft for the first time. I knew I had to tell the story of this Black couple that had fled from enslavement arriving in freedom on Christmas Day in 1848. I knew I had to tell it in Ellen’s voice. So many of the stories of Black women in our history were recorded by men, mostly white men. I wanted to tell it as I imagine Ellen might have told it. I still do.

I am full of emotion today. It is Inauguration Day. I just witnessed Kamala Harris, a Black and Asian woman, become the Vice President of the United States. She and Michelle Obama made eye contact today that spoke volumes. The poet today was a 22-year-old Black woman, and the Pledge of Allegiance was led by a young Black female firefighter who signed as she spoke. Today is also my Dad’s birthday. He would have been 89. The last Inauguration he and my mom witnessed was Obama’s. I can’t help but think of how he opened possibility for me. And my mom, who made sure I knew my history, to help me dream a future.

I didn’t become President, nor do I want to. But I have lived to see both a Black President and a Black woman Vice President. This is what Harriet, Mary, Wilma, Ellen, Marva, Mom, Dad and, and, and, fought to make possible. I became a storyteller so I can share these stories and more to inspire others to be whatever they dare to imagine. This is why Black stories matter.

Dignified and Indignant: Finding acceptance among Black women

I remember the first time my sister ever called me sister. She was about to give me a facial, my niece came down and asked some question about why my nails were painted. My sister said, “Because she wanted to.” And by “she,” she meant me. In that moment I felt full.

There’s something immeasurable about being seen by another Black woman. Your whole self comes into focus. Your past, your pain, your potential. All the joy hidden in the pockets of your curves, in the kinks of your curls. It’s all exposed and bare in her eyes. That reflection can bring the deepest connection, though sometimes we might lash out from the vulnerability of it all. I grew up with my eyes focused on the Black women in my life. I thank God everyday I’ve been blessed with their beauty. Even when they hurt me.

I’ll never forget. I was in Atlanta with my face made, afro out, femme’d to the nines! I ran into at least three Black women on the street with the biggest smiles complimenting my look. My Yankee ass felt more welcomed in the South by these women than by any of the faux trans tolerance that white folks offered me back home. They would never know my name, but still offered me the dignity of feeling whole.

Being trans(gender) means I got to come into my womanhood later than most girls. It also means the dignity of my womanhood has never gone undisputed. I’ve had to fight every preconceived notion of who I was, from doctors, partners, family and my own upbringing to become the woman I am today. Every time I interact with someone new there is a negotiation of my womanhood, and whether today I will be respected, tolerated or despised.

In truth this makes me no different from any Black woman. Our womanhood — our dignity — is constantly in dispute. By the white systems we live in or by the men in our own families. By beauty standards and double standards and the burdens loaded on our backs. Sometimes by each other, too. How would you name the grace it takes not to raze this world to the ground?

My therapist asks how I’m doing. “I’m feeling dignified and indignant.”

I’ve determined that Black women do not owe the grace we give the world. A grace that’s rarely extended to us without guilt or self-interest. But we continue to hold our neighbors, our sisters and our brothers, and our cousins and their children. We share our unrequited love because we believe others may one day share it with us. We speak out against injustice not just for our own seat, but demand places at the table for everyone to eat. We are dignified in our compassion. We are righteous in our indignation. We march toward liberation no matter how long it takes others to join us.

Years ago, there was an older Black woman helping me at a store. I don’t remember all that well now, but I know I wasn’t looking that girlish. She looked me in the eyes and called me “ma’am.” It was that look, you could tell she chose to use the word she did.

So many Black women throughout my life accepted me, even at times I wasn’t fully accepting of myself. And there’s that grace again. The choice to treat others with a dignity that is rarely returned. Black women don’t sit around waiting for the world to accept us. We offer the acceptance we have in our souls without the expectation of mutuality.

One day I hope the world will accept me the way my sisters have. When the dignity Black women offer is finally reflected back to us, we will be able to build a world of rest and care and joy for every person in our midst. Until then, we’ll keep our strut with our heads held high, dignified and indignant, holding each other as best we can.

At the Forefront: Black womxn lead the fight for social justice

Black womxn have stood at the forefront of just about every large-scale movement for social justice in this country’s history. As a Black womxn in 2021 fighting for progressive change — reproductive justice and racial equity, in particular — this history is not lost on me. To be Black and to be a womxn in America is to be routinely attacked, questioned, bothered and overlooked. Some days just getting out of bed, stepping out into the sun, and daring to claim breath and space feels like an overtly political act. We exist in an environment that is hostile to us at every turn, and yet…. We face that hostility with a fierceness that is unmatched, a determination that is unending. With astonishing power, and everlasting love.

Why do we fight so ferociously for a country that doesn’t seem to want to fight for us in return? I ask myself this all the time. Fighting so hard day in and day out can be exhausting. And yet the burden to lead often falls on those who already have the most to carry. So why do we continue? How do we continue?

I continue because there is no other way. In my heart of hearts I’m an optimist — an idealist really (don’t tell anyone!). I fight for my community and my country because, among other reasons, the Declaration of Independence is a gorgeous freakin document! Read it sometime, if you haven’t in a while — it will give you chills. This nation, that was forged by genocide and all manner of sheer brutality, was eventually brought together because of a few radical ideals: liberty, justice and equality for all. (Do as we say, not as we do, I guess) These ideals were radical in 1776, and they’re just as radical today. The fact that we as a nation have never come remotely close to living these values is infuriating. The thought that this democratic experiment of ours might be coming to an end before it comes anywhere near to reaching its full potential absolutely breaks my heart. And so the fight continues. For me, it’s about creating a more safe and just world, but it’s also about proving that a country founded with such righteous ideals in mind can persevere without ultimately tearing itself apart.

As an activist who is also a Black womxn, I continually seek sources of strength, renewal and hope in order to keep moving forward. The bravery, tenacity, genius and grace of my ancestors flows through me in ways that I can’t fully describe. But I also find hope and motivation in my fellow sisters in the struggle. There are activists all across the country and around this little state of ours who are leading unapologetically, with determination and with grace. I look to them, I stand with them and I fight for them until we can achieve the justice, equity and empathy that we all seek.

Here are a few of their thoughts:

Jennifer Rourke is the founder for The Rhode Island Political Cooperative, and a board member of The Womxn Project:

“Black women have been fighting for years for intersectionality, equality and equity. We can see change from different perspectives that most people cannot see. Our fight is your fight and we take that to heart.

“With so many new faces running for office, especially Black/Brown and LGBTQIA+ women or female identifying shows that the time has passed for incrementalism. No more small steps for change. We need bigger movements in our everyday life and the time is now. This movement means that there will be more legislation that advocates for the people who live and work in places that are often ignored and have legislation introduced that works against their health, wellness and safety.”

Jessica Brown is the founder of Clam Jam Brass Band.

“Black womxn have been at the forefront of so many social justice movements because as Malcolm X said, ‘The most disrespected woman in America is the Black woman.” We know what it is like to be invisible and ignored, yet we prop up this country. We have fed this country, raised its families, cared for its sick, been its source for science, and been there to fix it when it’s broken.

“We are not complacent. And we know what the consequences are when certain people are elected into office or if certain laws aren’t passed. Black women feel these ripple effects the most. We carry this trauma and historical knowledge in our DNA. When Black womxn do work, everyone benefits. We don’t just look out for other black womxn, but for our men, our kids, and every other demographic group. One because we know what it feels like to be marginalized, and two, because we have been conditioned to concern ourselves of the needs of white people. We are used to picking up the slack for everyone else and if we have needs and want change, history will show that we can’t depend on anyone else to stand up for us. When we come out, we come out in numbers. We plot, plan, strategize, organize, march, knock and we VOTE. We don’t operate as individuals but as a community. We understand the power of numbers. As a group, we are powerful.”

Ditra Edwards is the Co-Founder and Director of SISTA FIRE

“Black womxn, blk queer womxn, blk trans womxn, are brilliant and beautiful and carry a vision for our communities that draws from our ancestors and our lived experiences and, most of all, our deep desire for joy and liberation. We are fighting to save black lives. Our long history of black resistance and black- led organizing is how we exercise our dignity and power.

“Ella Baker was always a person for me. I think about her, I read about her….The way she approached her work was very much grounded in building collective power, doing deep listening, and hearing what people were experiencing and what they hoped for and what their vision for themselves was. In the work that we do at SISTA Fire, we try to embody this. We are deeply engaged in listening and looking for how we can create our democratic process so that everyone can be actively involved.” The Cabinet

Zounds! Horace Popinjay here with the first edition of The Cabinet, a dispatch which shall be put forth each sennight hence!

You may guess from my demeanor that I’m writing from the past. No! This dispatch comes from the future — the year 2121, in fact, when Providence is an Underwater City, and we all have to put on our Copper Diving Suits to go to the Alga Encrusted Ruins of The Providence Place Mall!*

“Egad!” you’re saying to yourself. “I thought our noisome troubles would cease now that we’ve shed that pestilent year, 2020.”

No. Why did you think that? Things will get way worse. But of course the future, unlike the past, is mutable! Heed my dispatches in this periodical, and we can avoid this watery end.

Take Senator DiPalma’s commission to investigate Rhode Island’s energy infrastructure. Not a single activist or environmental expert among the 20-member commission, which includes luminaries from Enbridge Gas and National Grid.

Tommyrot! But let’s give the State House their due: Trying to balance preserving the conditions for life on earth with keeping the energy companies happy is a sticky wicket. At least the new Transportation and Climate Initiative will reduce public transit carbon emission. Unfortunately, the bigger transit priority seems to be making sure rich people don’t have to look at the folks who ride it. Isn’t that the real agenda behind this codswallop multihub bus plan?

Don’t worry Mr. Paolino, the skyscrapers may be underwater here in 2121, but our moneyed class lives in capacious dirigibles, miles above the hoipolloi down in the briny deep. You’ll love it!

*RIP to the many who drowned in defiant opposition to the Governor’s 2120 Copper Diving Suit Mandate

Cover Me!: Where have all the arts writers gone? I should start by mentioning that even writing this would normally be considered a conflict of interest.

That’s because for the past nine years, I’ve run a theater company.

A small one.

As in, “you could fit in the back of a pick-up” small.

Part of running a small theater company, in addition to producing, you know, theater, involves endlessly chasing down press and coverage for the work you’re doing.

If you’re lucky, you can get a feature here and there for something you’re working on.

If you’re really lucky, you can get a feature and a review for whatever that thing is.

And if you get both, I assume you’re married to Rupert Murdoch.

I’m sure there are parts of the country where getting people to write about your work is not difficult, and goodness knows I am far luckier than most when it comes to press, but that’s partly because when people ignore me, I dress up a pug to look like Ophelia or antagonize the star of Pineapple Express.

I’ve often been accused of producing “stunts,” and it’s not an unfair assessment, but I would always point out that stunts get you a returned phone call from an arts writer or a critic, whereas the best production of some play anyone has ever seen could possibly get you a mention in someone’s Facebook status.

We have a serious problem with arts and arts writing, and while it may be tempting to blame it all on the pandemic, the reality is, it’s been an issue for far longer than that, and it needs to be added to the long list of things we should be addressing before we even think about getting back onstage.

Before we get too far into this, let me just say that I’m sure some of what I’m about to say is not going over well with some people, so I’d like to preface it all by stating that I understand most of these problems are not the result of any one person (aside from Rupert Murdoch, probably), and that systemic elitism and capitalism are likely to blame for it, just like everything else, but by not talking about it, or by pulling the ol’ “That’s just the way it is” mantra that I heard over and over again when I was asking why coverage for my work and the work of other smaller theaters in the area was so inconsistent, we are looking at a problem that is not all that hard to fix and claiming it unfixable.

And if we can’t fix the fixable problems, what chance do we have to fix the bigger ones? So all that being said, let’s talk about pay-to-play.

(I can already feel you bristling. It’s okay. Take a deep breath. It’s not going to be as bad as you think. Or maybe it is, but there’s no way you’re going to stop reading now.)

I am not naive to the ways in which money affects just about everything, but perhaps there’s a small part of me that would like to believe a state that constantly — and accurately — touts its arts sector as its main selling point would see the value in writing about and spotlighting as much of that sector as possible.

Instead, we see publications giving coverage to the same major arts organizations time and again, and those organizations just so happen to have the money to take out large ads in the pages of those newspapers and magazines.

Now, I’m not faulting any theater for how it chooses to advertise, and indeed, if most of us were able to afford to play the game, I’m sure we’d play it happily as well, but it doesn’t make it any less distasteful that some of the best productions I’ve seen in recent memory went mostly unwritten about, because it was happening at a theater that couldn’t afford to advertise.

Do I have any proof that advertising will automatically get you more coverage?

Well, if you look at who is getting the coverage and who isn’t, and what both of those groups are doing and not doing, it seems logical to assume that ad dollars are playing a part, and if they aren’t, that means the size of the theater or its perceived reputation or longevity is a factor, and I can’t think of a better way to tank a blossoming arts community than to have the media in that community telegraph to its young artists that whatever they do or create will go mainly unrecognized unless they do it somewhere that has been deemed “reputable” or “impressive.”

You can imagine what would have happened to the adventurous spirit in theater communities like New York or Chicago if the arts writers there had balked at going to an opening night that wasn’t catered or asked to review a show without being given two free drink tickets along with their program. I’m starting to pray that the founders of the next Steppenwolf or NYTW aren’t going to make a go of it in Rhode Island, because chances are, they’ll be widely ignored.

And if I sound like I’m being unreasonable, please know that I have tried to meet editors and publishers halfway so many times, I now own a condo at the halfway point.

In fact, I once suggested to an editor that if space in a newspaper was an issue, and I’m sure it is, could he just agree to send someone to write about my theater’s work and only post the article or review online. I assured him that wouldn’t bother me at all since most of my audience base would still see it. I stopped just short of saying, “Because none of them read your newspaper anyway,” because I was attempting to be diplomatic.

I was then told that even writing something digitally would be fiscally prohibitive, and I dropped the matter, believing what I was told.

Two days later, an article appeared on the front page of this newspaper’s arts section all about a random actor in a random tour that was coming through town, and I had to wonder how that kind of coverage could fit within a budget? A puff piece to promote a project that really had no local ties whatsoever aside from the fact that it was playing a local venue that regularly advertises in the paper.

Now listen, I’m not against puff pieces. I’ve written them and I’ll read them, but if something has to be prioritized, I think it only makes sense to prioritize local arts in a local paper before you get around to writing yet another review of the latest non-eq Jesus Christ Superstar tour that’s rolling through the town for a total of three performances.

I’m not speaking morally either.

Yes, covering local theater is the right thing to do, but it also just makes sense from a business standpoint.

My mother has no interest in who’s playing Elphaba in the latest Wicked tour, but if I’m in even so much as a blurb in The Providence Journal, she buys out the newsstand, and I’m sure she’s not alone in that. Yes, ad money is important, but so is a paper’s responsibility to cover stories based on the interest level of its local readership, which subsequently turns into an investment in that institution.

We frequently hear about how the media is under assault and we need to support our local papers, and I agree with that, but local arts writers, just like our local theaters, also need to be spending this time, as my friend Aaron Blanck says, justifying why they should exist. And if their best argument for that happens to be a thousand words on somebody growing a zucchini that looks like Roger Williams, I’m not sure they’re going to be around much longer.

This might be when you present me with the argument that because theaters are not regularly producing in-person programming right now, there isn’t anything to write about, and you’d be arguing that with someone who has done nothing but write since all of this began. That isn’t me patting myself on the back (okay, maybe a little), but it is pointing out that when there’s no art, there are still artists, and artists are worth writing about, especially as it pertains to how important they are, the fact that they’re human beings with bills and livelihoods and personalities and interests that stretch beyond spending five minutes on the phone promoting their latest project.

What an amazing opportunity we’ve been given right now to talk to artists about their creative process, what they do when they’re not onstage, what they’d like to see happen when theaters come back.

Human interest stories, remember those?

And no, the Roger Williams zucchini does not count as human interest.

I spent months after the pandemic began speaking to artistic directors from all kinds of theaters about how they were weathering the storm. I’ve reviewed digital productions. I’ve written think-pieces like this that nobody asked for, but seemed worth working on anyway.

There is still plenty to write about, and arts writers or editors saying there isn’t is a failure of imagination from a group of people whose job is to celebrate imagination.

This is also not a problem that is specific to Rhode Island. I’ve heard from theaters all over the country about how their local papers and publications are letting them down at a crucial moment. Yes, many of those papers are, themselves, in dire straits, but isn’t that all the more reason why we should be helping each other, and giving each other reasons to champion the work being done on both sides?

While it would be arguably more awful if the arts sections just up and disappeared, at least then, there would be a certain amount of equity to the matter.

Okay, we’re on our own. It’s horrendous, but at least there’s a level playing field.

Instead, what we’re met with is the same, ongoing nonsense that we’ve seen for years–

Smaller organizations not only being ignored, but being given no rhyme or reason for why, and certainly no criteria for how they can find themselves in their local paper, because, chances are, the criteria involves money, but nobody wants to admit that, so instead, many of us just cross our fingers and hope we’ll do something so undeniably brilliant that editors will feel they have no choice but to send in their critics.

I once sat next to a group of women at Trinity Rep who told me they loved theater and wanted to see more of it. My ears perked up, and I asked them what theaters they were currently subscribed to.

“Well, we see everything here,” one of them said, meaning Trinity. “And we go to PPAC, and the Gamm, and Theater by the Sea, but we wish we had a few more to choose from.”

I then started listing other theaters, including my own, that they could check out. They were stunned. They had no idea any of these places existed. They were general audience-goers. A bit older, and not that active on social media. The way they located events and organizations was by reading the Journal, Rhode Island Monthly, Providence Monthly, and one or two other publications. While nearly every theater appears in at least a few of those once or twice, they regular spotlight on the bigger groups guaranteed that, as far people like these were concerned, they only needed to memorize the names of a handful of places.

The age-old argument that reviews don’t matter and you shouldn’t read them is not without merit, but even at the height of online participation, there is still the feeling that if nobody is writing about you, it’s because there’s nothing there worth writing about, and that is unacceptable, but not likely to change, which means what does have to change are the people doing the writing or the ones handing out assignments.

That’s where you come in.

Right now, you’ve probably heard a lot about how much artists need your help, particularly your money, and that’s still true. If you can donate to a fund that’s supporting artists and freelancers right now, please do.

If you don’t have the money to donate, there are still things you can do to help, and I’ll be writing more about them later this month, but for now, here’s one thing you can do–

Call whoever is left at your local paper and tell them they need to be consistently writing about local artists, and they need to be sure to spread the wealth. Chances are, if the first one happens, then the second won’t be hard to do.

If you see that a local theater is putting on a digital production of something, or revamping their Instagram, or even regularly making an effort to keep a presence online until this is over, consider writing to an editor and telling them they should be writing stories about it.

They’re going to tell you it’s a financial matter, and while that might not be a lie, the fact is–

They have to write about something, and if you’ve pursued any of these magazines or newspapers lately, you can see that they are writing about a lot of–forgive the term–utter crap.

If there’s room for movie reviews, there’s room for a profile of a local set designer.

If there’s room for articles online that are rerun from the AP about a celebrity marriage, there’s room for a reporter to spend a day at a small theater that’s struggling to keep the doors open.

If there is room for politics and sports and inflammatory hate-speech masquerading as “opinion pieces,” then there is room for the arts.

If you’re going to put arts on the tourism brochure, you need to put us in The Providence Journal as well.

And if anybody working at The Providence Journal or Providence Business News or Providence Monthly or Rhode Island Monthly, or any of the many papers in cities and towns all over the state reading this, feels angered by what I’ve said, I have good news for you.

You can do better.

And I look forward to reading all about it when you do.

Ed. note: Motif maintains a strict separation between our ad and editorial departments, and we never engage in pay for play.

First prison-associated COVID-19 death in RI

RI experienced its first COVID-19 death associated with the state prison system among either staff or inmates, the Department of Corrections confirmed to Motif. Lt. Russell Freeman, RI correctional officer dead from COVID-19 (Photo: RI Department of Corrections)

In a statement dated Monday, December 14, Director Patricia A. Coyne-Fague said, “It is with a heavy heart that I must report the loss of Lt. Russell Freeman, who passed away early this morning from complications of COVID-19.” Freeman was graduated from the training academy in 1991 and promoted to lieutenant in 2014. He is survived by his wife, Lisa Favino-Freeman, who is also a correctional officer, and three children. Arrangements are in process and will be announced when they are completed, the statement said.

Prisons have been a serious locus of COVID-19 cases and deaths, second only to nursing homes as high- risk congregate care facilities. According to the Marshall Project in co-operation with the , as of December 11 there have been 1,657 inmate deaths nationally but only six states (Maine, Nevada, New Hampshire, Rhode Island, Vermont, Wyoming) have reported none, out of 249,883 inmate cases (of whom 166,382 have recovered). Staff are associated with COVID-19 risk carrying infection both into and out of correctional facilities. As of December 11, the Marshall Project reports 108 staff deaths, out of 62,171 cases (of whom 40,972 have recovered).

RI has been relatively fortunate, with 605 inmate cases and 232 staff cases, according to the Marshall Project. (UPDATE: The official DoC Facebook page reports 731 inmate cases and 271 staff cases as of last week.) Some states have reported catastrophic rates of infection among their inmate population: 70.2% in South Dakota, 59.6% in Kansas, 49.8% in Iowa, 49.7% in Michigan, 44.5% in Wisconsin, 43.4% in Minnesota, 43.2% in North Dakota, and another 17 states between 40% and 20%. Among inmate deaths, there have been 189 in Florida, 167 in Texas, 116 in Ohio, 94 in Michigan, 93 in California, and 82 in Georgia.

On a national basis, researchers have been extremely critical of how prisons and jails responded to the pandemic threat. In a report released this month by the Prison Policy Initiative, Research Director Wendy Sawyer and sociology professor Gregory Hooks of McMaster University wrote:

Since the beginning of the pandemic, it was abundantly clear that the crowded and unsanitary conditions in American prisons and jails would facilitate the rapid spread of the virus, putting incarcerated people and staff at serious risk once the novel coronavirus entered facilities. Officials across the country ignored the threat for too long, perhaps imagining that confined populations would be too isolated from the outside world to contract the virus. But the boundaries between life “inside” and surrounding communities are actually quite porous, with staff, vendors, volunteers, and visitors constantly flowing in and out of correctional facilities — not to mention the frequent turnover and transfers of incarcerated people themselves.

RI did react early by shutting down visitation and other risks, but it is impossible to completely prevent transmission of the virus in a prison, and until now the state has been the beneficiary of a combination of small size and dumb luck, the latter of which has finally run out – especially for Lt. Freeman and his family.

Golden Couple Tarnished: Jared and Ivanka expected to receive a less-than-warm welcome

Sins of the Father

It appears that the 2020 presidential election has come to a relieving public posturing end — except for ’s diseased mind — as even supporters of the barking mad Donald (save for the eternally inebriated Rudy “Nosferatu” Giuliani and his greedy lawyer cohorts) are finally tired of arguing that the reptile has a chance of winning in the courts, and it is time to press a pillow down on the fat blowhard’s face as he sleeps.

P&J cannot get enough of Walking Eagle’s self-inflicted spin in the wind as he frantically dances on air, but we took special joy in Gina Bellafante’s delightful “Big City” column in of November 22.

While we may be tired of flogging the dead horse that is Trump the Magnificent, Bellafante focuses on his famous child and marital in-law, and really couldn’t do all of that pond scum justice in her limited space.

Citing a CNN headline, “Big City” begins: “Jared and Ivanka are poised to return to a Manhattan social scene that no longer welcomes them.” Ah, good riddance to bad rubbish.

For those of our readers who have recently been released from prison and are trying to catch up, Ivanka is The Donald’s daughter by some marriage, known for turning out tasteless crap “fashion” clothing made in Chinese sweatshops, and worn by no one not in an institution (although they could make handy hospital scrubs for many).

Her hubby, the unspeakable Jared, is, like his father-in-law, the son of a wealthy, crooked Big Apple developer who was also born on third base and thought he hit a triple. Such is his kowtowing to his own Daddy (who has actually done jail time for his lack of ethics) that evidently, when he said that if Jared married a shiksa, he would forfeit his ill-gotten inheritance, Jared forced Ivanka to convert to Judaism, which must make Jews worldwide quite proud.

That they were “advisors” to The Donald while he has been in office (quite a scam, eh?) has had the Founding Fathers spinning in their graves. Meanwhile, Ivanka was her father’s prop master, while Jared was charged with bringing peace to the Middle East and procuring PPE for frontliners when the COVID-19 pandemic hit. How’d those work out, big guy?

To cut to the chase, the members of New York’s cultural high society that Bellafante interviewed suggested rather bluntly that Jared and Ivanka would be welcomed nowhere, from fashion events to art galleries to the opera to coop boards of luxury apartments, being walking kisses of death within that sphere to even those who did concealed business with them.

The Kushner/Trumps needn’t go apartment hunting, since they will doubtless hole up in Trump Tower in midtown. But if this becomes an extended stay, look for the Trump home base to become an urban version of “Grey Gardens.”

Being ostracized couldn’t happen to a better couple. And Daddy will no doubt beat feet to his Mar-a- Lago retreat in Palm Beach, home of greed merchants and exotic Eurotrash. So Phillipe and Jorge can only offer this sage and caring advice to any and all members of the Trump tribe: the elephants’ graveyard is two blocks down on the left, in the alley right after the Dunkin’ Donuts.

Kudos and Congrats

…to all those Vo Dilunduhs helping to feed others. Especially to Dana Heng and the other folks behind the “Refri PVD” community refrigerator project, a refrigerator located on 705 Westminster Street, outside of the New Urban Arts building and to Tameka Eastman-Coburn and others involved in another grassroots food pantry at 335 Wickenden Street at the Small Format cafe and art gallery on the East Side of the capital city.

Many thanks to Jenna Pelletier of The ProJo whose article on food insecurity provided us with many of these details.

Passages

Retired Vo Dilun jury commissioner, Henry G. Vivier, Jr., who served in that position for many years, passed away on November 22. Jorge remembers meeting Henry when he was on jury duty in the 1990s and instantly liking him. So long to Henry, a fine public servant.

Another fine public servant, David Dinkins, the first (and, so far, only) African-American mayor of New York City, passed away on Monday, November 23. Dinkins served as mayor from 1990 to 1993 but prior to that had received a Congressional gold medal for his service in the US Marine Corps, and he was also a cum laude graduate of Howard University. And on the international stage, vaya con Dios to Argentine soccer legend Diego Maradona, who died at age 60. Known in his post-playing years for some questionable behavior and unquestionable addiction to cocaine, Maradona was nonetheless rightfully deemed one of the greatest players in the sport’s history. Although in typical overreaction upon his demise he was quickly dubbed the GOAT (Greatest Of All Time), he is undoubtedly in the discussion for that title along with Alfredo DiStefano, Pele, Johan Cruyff and possibly two current players: Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo. (Note: Phillipe is a former high- level player of “the beautiful game,” and covered it as a reporter for decades, so his assessment carries a bit of weight.) The “Hand of God” will now move on.