Blind to racism?

The cake is a lie. Liberty is not justice. We are not free.

The cake is a lie. Liberty is not justice. We are not free.

I attended a screening of American Denial. Although we were unable to complete the film because of DVD issues and a computer that suddenly needed 30 updates before it would operate, what I did get to see raised questions that I couldn’t answer. I want to share what I need to ask.

Are you looking at the evils granted by the color of your birth, as an oppressive blind man?

Are you buying your humanity, your right to exist, with the color of your education?

Are you willing to deny your blood, to embrace the hangman’s rope, in the name of love?

If you deny the demands of your father’s beliefs, are you also murdering the heart of the mother’s whom weep?

Did racism have to become, as opposed to the 1950’s and 60’s when it was “okay” to throw coke bottles at a little girl walking to the store with some change she’d saved jingling in her pocket, ironically, an underground railroad of hatred?

Does racism use the same tools of oppression as misogyny does or are they different? How are they similar?

When is impatience for things to change given over to frustrated tolerance that bubbles lava-like under the surface of civility? How long do we have to be patient before things actually change? What needs to happen before real change takes place? Isn’t 60 years long enough to think people would grow up already and see each other as humans? Or is it 160? 260? 560? How long is enough before it’s too much?

NaPoWriMo: Fifteen TRIGGER WARNING

TRIGGER WARNING: You had no idea

By this time, I was already being taught horrible things; I was six in this picture.

By this time, I was already being taught horrible things; I was six in this picture.

I don’t think you could possibly have meant

For me to return from where I rose my ascent

I was broken, abused, nearly destroyed

All because my father didn’t want to take away my “new toy.”

I held secrets so dark that nobody could love me

Not that way, not no way, not even the slightest possibility.

At fifteen I had not recognized the horrors I’d seen

At fifteen I hadn’t even realized it was safe to breathe

Although the constant abuse had stopped a decade earlier

It didn’t take much to re-abuse me, just be a little squirrelier.

I ran around raw as if chained to a razor blade

The slightest momentum and I’d dive back into my shade

The fears that accosted me, drove me wild with anguish

It took me a quarter century, those demons to finally vanquish.

No, I don’t think you would have, if you’d known what it means

To return to the age of fragility, loss of innocence, the unclean.

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