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Hunting Season
The entirety of this administration has felt like those sunless months near the Earth’s poles. Losing track of days and weeks because it’s one atrocity after another. A child dies of illness in a cage at the border. A neo-nazi plows through a crowd of protesters with their truck. Politicians claiming Obama was reparations. And which mass shooting are you referring to?
But the last few weeks have reminded us that it is not only dark - it is hunting season. Black and Brown people, especially those who speak up, are dying. The police are killing us for living, breathing. Expecting. Existing. Children being arrested in schools for being children. It’s like we are always in the wrong place at the wrong time, even if that place is home.
“What shall we say then?” Is one of those phrases in the Bible that I think of often. So now what? Where do we go from here? Nowhere. We don’t go anywhere. We are here to stay. We will remain and survive and thrive. Just like our ancestors. History has told us so. And so we cling and fight and breathe and rise and even laugh. Yes, and sing and dance and paint and cipher. And write. We record this time, like all the other times, that evil tried to destroy us. From within. And we remember, while they desperately try to forget.