Three words, one death.
A shattered world.
It revealed the wreckage
And ruination of lives
That always comprised the kaleidoscope base
That upheld the white edifice of power.
Time for that fraudulent wedding cake to be seen
As filled with mold and baked with hate.
Throw it out into the trash where it belongs.
Let it burn away.
We need real food that feeds Black people.
Brown people. First Nations. White people.
No more useless fake white cake.
I was listening to a friend’s cri du cuour over fighting racism. I have some thoughts on the subject. Remember that old second wave feminist slogan THE PERSONAL IS POLITICAL? Boy, howdy, whoever came up with that MUST have been from Appalachia. B/c that is how I’m seeing the battle against racism and white privilege fought here. It is being waged on a home-front battleground: in conversations in pick-up trucks on the way to Lowes; talks over family dinners; chats on transit on the way to Krogers; exchanges in front of that Confederate statue on Main; LTEs in the paper; groups teachers formed themselves in the school system; the swift retirement of a police chief. THIS is how change happens here. It might not be as swift as we wish. It might not be the sweeping overhaul we want nor need. But it IS reflective of the way we have conversations and conduct business that are ongoing with those messy things that are human beings. And I believe, to quote Sam Cooke, a change is gonna come.