Imagine you have a 20-something-year old son, or daughter, who happens to be black, and that you understand why I feel for others like them whose lives are being traded for pelf, or “F*** your breath” snatched with impunity. There are several cases in point, too numerous to itemize.
Some are wanted dead, but others alive – they are worth more that way. Case in point: that weeping young man who was on the talk show that shall remain unnamed. He was obviously in some deep, deep pain. Who was it that said: Profound love is prologue to profound pain? It is so true, even in the least of our species. If people get hooked on drugs to dull the pain, and you feel compelled to intervene, then do so because your heart aches for them and what they must be going through. If it is that you believe that yours be the singular charge from on high to snatch them from the mire and plant their feet on solid ground, then why not focus first on the root cause of the problem, rather than solely on the symptom – that is assuming, of course, that malevolent muckraking or profit maximizing is not your main intent? Similarly, anyone raving in the vice grip of either bipolar or PTSD malaise, or even the depths of addiction, needs a helping hand, and not a steel-toed boot, and certainly not fingers pointing them n the direction of gleeful television cameras nor triumphantly squeezing the trigger, even though in your heart of hearts, if indeed it is that you do have one, you sincerely believe, rough-hew it how you may, that they are black, ergo, children of a lesser god, so what does it matter?
Our Black Lives must count for something other than to augment the size of your already hefty bank accounts, or to add another scalp to your celebrity guest curio cabinet. Such lives are more than mere souvenirs, mere collateral damage, as you reach for whatever trophies that reward the best in your field. Let’s say, hypothetically, of course, that you really want to help. If, indeed, in so doing, err you must, then why not do so on the side of compassion? No one needs a doctorate in ‘Anyology’ to figure out that this is the wisest, most human and humane course of action, — a consideration given to every specie of animal, domestic and wild alike, the wilder the merrier. But no. It appears that you do feel that Black Lives do not truly matter? For argument’s sake, however, I gave you the benefit of the doubt. And what did you do with it? The answer lies within the very question, and I can’t even feign surprise.
Now I know why the word ‘police’ sounds so much like and ‘po’ lice,’ and why the terms ‘therapist’ and ‘the rapist’ are spelt the same but for the carefully contrived pause. Some people do not need manufactured Weapons of Mass Destruction; they already carry them concealed in the holsters of their hearts. That reminds me: I will never ever again use the term “Raise the Roof” in recognition of noteworthy achievement.
And while our wasted lives continue to lie sprawling on asphalt reddened and made molten with our blood, while braided blond locks, pumped-up lips, bronzed statues, Wedgewood Cameos, and art exhibits-a-plenty affirm their belief in the nobility of the savage, they rejoice as their pockets bulge. Recognize, for your own good, the millennial auction blocks all around us. And how can we forget our Confederate skinfolk who don the ancient battle garb and proudly waft the offensive flag above their own heads, while strange fruit continue to dangle from every branch along the idyllic Southern Road. To all of the above, I offer a quote from Winston Churchill, “There, but for the Grace of God, goes God!”
Now, to my sidewalk-parading, placard-bearing, fist-pumping, ‘Give Us Free”-chanting, well-meaning, umbrage-proclaiming, injustice-protesting kinfolk, I know that while the past is gone, it did not take with it the evil resident within its core, and that it is going to take at least another eon to rid ourselves of it, if at all. But the least we can do now is be aware of the marauding predators still lurking at each turn, seeking to profit from the anguish we bellow out at every street corner. Yes we are well into the twenty-first century, but we are not that far removed from the day when they first “fell on their knees, and then on the aborigines,” when they “first thanked God,” elevated the flag in Glory, then “inquired urgently after Gold,” as both Eric Williams and CLR James remind us.
So, as Columbus Day approaches, I urge you to remember, your pain is still, and ever will be, their gain.
© KalyPsouL
posted 07.11.2015
KalyPsouL@Large: Alien-Nation Reflections 