The events of last week in Charleston cannot go unnoticed nor unremarked. It is murder no matter by what hideous scales it is measured and added to the heap of our violence. The stunning frequency of violence among ourselves invokes fear in me that harm, at any moment, will take away or ruin a life or lives of those I cherish. Will some inebriate on a colossal high of bigotry kill or maim my African-American granddaughter or great-grandsons, kill or maim my Caucasian grandsons--just because they happen to be there that day, that minute, that second? Will my African-American son-in-law be dragged behind some Confederate flagged pickup truck just because he was in his car with his Caucasian wife--my daughter?
I am fearful.
The hope I hold out is that the hideous aberrations in so many terrible, recent events are the darkness before a dawn when America has grown up enough to see to it that there is justice and support and succor for all who live among us: black, white, red, yellow without regard for gender, age, status or spiritual pursuits.
It can be said that the more the murderous events, dreadful injustices and wanton insanity have appeared, the more they are in our consciousness. Is there some tipping moment ahead when we all, collectively scream stop! enough! Then, make that happen...?
If there is anything I'm able to drag out of this mountain of death, it is to see that every living day I have a responsibility for what goes on in my head, what words I use, what attitudes I strike, how I treat others, what spiritual, cultural or political platforms I support. And if at bedtime I can see that these intangibles and activities of my day are on the positive side of the ledger, I'll have moved one day's step ahead for my brothers and sisters with whom I share this planet.
My hand is open. Let me take yours and we'll walk together.
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