“Charleston, U.S.A…Denial is a mug”
June 18, 2015
Black people are not your enemy, America. Not that we shouldn’t be. You know who/what your enemy is, however: it’s you and the myth of your superiority over others. Somewhere in history something, someone, or some song told you that you were superior. Without thinking about it, you believed it. You actually came to believe that the Native, First Nation people were inhuman, that Africans were subhuman and then superhuman mutants, but never human. You believed in and invested in it, even when you knew it to be a lie. Even when you wanted to believe in humanity, you resisted it, because somehow you knew that your identity relied on the power inherent in the myth. You are not civilized, not civil, not lawmaking. No, you are in the process of patching your identity together at the expense of other human beings. You institutionalize it in policy, policing, uncivil and carceral violence. You allow the feebleminded, fear mongering among us to own and deploy technologies of terror and torture. You tell them to hide their fears of self in hate towards others. Your myths are lullabies of destruction. You foster and nurture hate. You preserve the symbols of hate in the name of free speech and democracy. Most of all you preserve the lie. And the closer you come to the truth, the more you hate that you have to lie in the first place. And now the brutal hate you protect spills out in bullets and empty pleas of loss. Think of it, the rhetoric of losing something that was stolen. And so now you ashamed of what you created, working like mad to distance yourself from this latest act of violent absurdity. Protect the lie again; institutionalize it. Force the denial upon everyone and couch it in the rhetoric of tolerance and justice. Reproduce the denial; stamp it on passports, protect the right to imprison and detain at will; reserve the right to deny access and kill, protect the power to define the reality of others. You don’t know who you are because knowledge of self cannot come through theft, cannot come through death; no matter defensive silence. The walls of myth made concrete encasing the imagination. Now you’re stuck. Blood on hands that won’t wash off. Democracy and justice are not yours to sell…but you mastered selling cells, have to make the carceral state marketable. Tell yourself and kind that prisons keep us fine while we stay dressed to the nines in million march funeral lines. Our homes have been battlegrounds, our sites of prayer long made into sites of trauma. Go ahead and patch up your goodie bags of fraudulence: “oh shame can you see…by the dawns endless night…what unproudly we held at the dark nights last evening…” (that’s the black version). Self-hate never produced love, America. This latest StormTrooper Roof(er) late-comer to the Wilson-Zimmerman family reunion is your offspring, America. Roof is at least an ideological descendant of Porcher Miles, designer of the Confederate Flag, which is making a comeback. States Rights, Open Carry Gun Rights, Voter Suppression, anti-black terrorism, anti-non-European immigration, etc., etc., that’s you homie?! You know this 2015, right? No Matter. We know it’s political, we know these killings “stalk us as a political reality.” What is this but a disruption of inner peace? A violation of our spiritual intimacy. Why else would my citizenship come with broken backs, bent knees, hands up, or arms opened, bullet-pierced skulls, young and elderly chests emptied of their breath? You told me to take it or leave it. Taking it means leaving it too, I guess. Make our blues, take our blues, and kill us for loving despite our blues. Go ahead and get the make-up and masking tape ready, but it’s too late. People see and know the death-dance too well. Go ahead and two-step to the gates of that sub-level opposite heaven. Your indifferent stares, forced smiles, and gun blasts confirm a lack. We are not the scapegoats of your failings. We are not to blame for your ineptitude. We resist your intransigence. We proclaim our love of us. We proclaim us as love. Whether rebellion in Baltimore, or prayer meetings in Charleston, we love. Through angry tears, descending hot along the cheekbone, we resist the hate produced on these shores. Stay tuned, my beloved community. After all, it’s only June.