RUBY DEE WAS WAY AHEAD OF HER TIME
My mother, actor/activist Ruby Dee, was a survivalist, environmentalist, and way ahead of her time. Someday, she told us, something is going to happen, and you’re going to need to know how to survive. Now is one of those times.
To Mom, survival meant being tough and being resourceful in every aspect of her life. Mom grew up poor, black, and female during the Great Depression and developed a deep-seated sense of lack and fear of never having enough food, money, or basic resources. Even though eventually she earned enough money as an actor to contribute to a financially stable existence — which is survival in-and-of itself — she was scared to be without. She saved just about everything, abhorred waste, and used reduce, reuse, and recycle as a directive long before the lexicon of saving the planet became popular.
Mom prepared my sister Nora, brother Guy, and me to survive by example and by design. We didn’t have to learn to survive in the urban streets like she did; we had to learn how to survive the inevitable pestilence that our species would bring upon itself as a result of violent, egotistical, and indifferent greed among other imbalances. First of all, she instilled in us a sense of connection to and responsibility for each other and the black community. She taught us the people skills that enabled us to engage with not only the attendant in the ladies room at the theatre, but also with the C-suite executives as well as the person on the street asking for change. She taught us how to be safe during a protest and what to do in an encounter with the police. She even had her brother, Uncle Eddie, teach us a few martial arts moves just in case we were attacked. Her gifts to us were always practical items such as water purifiers, first-aid kits, and battery-operated radios. And we used and appreciated all of the emergency supplies.
Mom knew how to make a way out of no way. Even when sewing or cooking, she turned something into something else. She wanted us to know how to take up a hem and how to change a car tire. She taught us to open a can without a can opener and how to build a fire in the fireplace and keep it burning. She hid cash throughout the house (some of which we found after she passed). She kept collections of lanterns, flashlights, safety pins, jars, matches, and candles just in case. We even had a set of metal camping cookware and dishes — canteens and all. Whenever we lost power, my mother would go throughout the house lighting candles and insisting that life go on as usual. Much to our dismay, we were able to do our homework during the Great Northeast Blackout in 1965. Even the Northeast Blackout of 2003 and Super Storm Sandy were no match for my mother thanks to the generator she had installed.
My mother also taught us the importance of eating well and having an independent food supply. We had a garden that we all worked. Uncle Eddie cleared the land; Dad and Guy tilled the soil; and Gram, Mom, and I planted the seeds or seedlings of collard, kale, and mustard greens. We even tamed the callaloo and tended rows of squash, peppers, cabbage, tomatoes, and string beans. We were tender with the lettuces and spinach and made sure that the mint didn’t overrun the two small herb gardens. We punctuated the garden with Nora’s marigolds to deter the rabbits, moles, and racoons that inevitably took their share of our food supply which also included the fruit from the apple, blackberry, and pear trees in the yard.
Everybody weeded, watered, and harvested the food, and Mom and Gram would carefully preserve jams and freeze vegetables for us to eat during the winter months. We ate plant-based meals usually on Tuesdays, drank fresh squeezed vegetable juice, and composted the unused portions of our food to make soil for the garden. The fresh and frozen food items were in addition to stashes of canned food and powered food that turned into sustenance with the addition of the distilled water that she saved.
Mom repurposed everything. She put eggshells in the water that we used to water the plants and reused the egg cartons to start plants from seeds. An empty Chock Full o’ Nuts coffee can became the emergency toilet in the car. She wrote a letter to me in order to use a piece of paper that she didn’t want to throw away. Old scripts were dismantled, cut in half, and turned into note pads. She used pencils to the nub and pens until they were void of ink.
We resorted to discarding torn clothes, broken electronics, empty jars, and outdated food items when she wasn’t looking. Whenever she found out what we had done, she would give us a lecture on all the reuses the item could have had, “Don’t you know I could make a this out of that and use it at least four more times?” she’d say. She would admonish us for not realizing the value of what we thought was garbage.
In 2008, Mom gave each of us a copy of the book Preparedness Now: An Emergency Survival Guide for Civilians and Their Families by Aton Edwards, but I never read it until now. It has chapters on just about everything she talked to us about from firearms and escape plans to pandemics, economic disaster, and civil unrest. As she planned, I was able to go to my bookshelf and find a resource. If Mom were here, she would probably say with a nudge, “I told you so.”
Survival in 2020 finds me planning differently, making sure, and double checking my supplies and securing my resources. I am reusing plastic bags, tearing paper towels in half, and keeping at the ready sanitizing agents, gloves, and masks. My mother’s words actually came out of my mouth when I looked at a shoe cover and imagined that I could sew elastic straps on the top and bottom of each side and make a face covering. I have my own stash of flashlights, candles, and other resources — some of which belonged to her. I am caring for my neuro-immuno-endocrine super-system, and I am drinking fresh vegetable juice every day. Although I am not yet growing my own food again, I am composting and eating fresh and mostly unprocessed food. I think of Mom when I use her tools or utilize all things practical. Each time I discard plastic after a single use, I hear my mother’s voice reminding me of my tiny role in this big picture. Every time I use paper for a second time, I feel the warmth of her smile.
I am fortunate that so far I have not experienced the death of loved ones due to Covid-19. I am also fortunate to now understand and practice more fully what my mother knew I would need to survive for now and in the foreseeable future.
