I Can't Breathe

No clever words. No cute pictures. No witty captions.

I just can't today.

One of the things that surprised me the most, going through treatments, was how angry I was. I spent so much time and energy dealing with rage.

I wasn't angry at anyone specifically, unless it was maybe myself or God. Raw rage lived inside of me, right beside the poison I was pumping into my body and the cancer that kept growing alongside it, in spite of everything I could do. Everything I was doing. All the pain, discomfort, toxicity, and ugliness I dealt with that wasn't enough to make my cancer retreat.

I was powerless.

I don't get terribly political here, apart from the occasional jab at 45. I haven't wanted to polarize anyone, and my real desire was to help others who were dealing with a cancer diagnosis, or had a loved one going through it. My political beliefs aren't the most important part of who I am, or who anyone else is, for that matter.

On this one, however, I can no longer remain silent.

Recently, there have been several incidents that seem to have triggered an historical tipping point. That may prove not to be the case, but at least right now, there are riots happening in multiple places in the US, most notably in Minnesota.

I don't care what your ideology is, if you're liberal or conservative, if you favor free market capitalism or communism. Right now, that doesn't matter.

Our brothers and sisters are dying.

No.

That's not enough.

Our brothers and sisters are being slaughtered.

I'd call it murder, but murder has a bizarre kind of dignity to it. We take murder seriously in our society. We aggressively pursue justice for it. We shudder at the thought of it. We do what we can to make sure it never happens.

That doesn't appear to be the case when it comes to Black bodies. They die, we argue about it on social media, we vilify the victim by dredging up the worst we can find about their private lives.

Then we move on.

Nothing happens.

Protest after protest, and our Black brothers and sisters are told that they aren't protesting in the right way. Kneeling during the anthem? Unpatriotic. Marching? Attention-seeking. Wearing a t-shirt? A T-SHIRT. And what's the response? "Who does that basketball player think he is???"

So now Minneapolis is burning, and we're clutching our collective pearls and tut-tutting the violence. "Don't they understand that this is doing nothing for their cause?"

Stop.

Listen.

Think.

A good friend of mine posted something recently that penetrated deep into my soul. He asked his white readers to do a thought experiment with him. I'd like to ask you to do the same with me right now.

Imagine the violence and confusion and destruction of the riots. It's not tough for us to do. We're certainly provided with plenty of pictures and video evidence on the regular.

Now imagine that we're in the riot. Participating. Breaking and smashing and swearing and screaming with rage. Stay with me. I know it's hard. The instinct is to say, "I'd never do that." But we don't know that. We can't know that.

So instead, remain here in the chaos with me. Now we ask ourselves, what would it take for me to be here? What would we have to suffer, what would we have to endure, what would we have to swallow for us to be a part of what's happening right now?

I know at this point, I want to say again, but I would never...

That's not the exercise. What would make me do this? What process, what life experiences, what pain and suffering would get me to that point?

Then look at our Black siblings. What, truly, are their options right now? How many butchers over the centuries have not faced justice? How many bodies have hung from trees? How many necks have been held down by the cruel and heavy knee of oppression?

How many empty spots at the dinner table?

I know a tiny bit about impotent rage. I've felt a small portion of what it is to be powerless before an enemy that you sometimes can't even see. And yet, I have not even an inkling of what it must feel like to be Black in America today.

If this pricked you, hurt you, made you uncomfortable... I am sorry for that, but it was the point. The time for comfort needs to be over. Today is the day we must look at our shameful past (and yes OUR PAST, not just that of our ancestors) and confront it head on.

Unflinching.

Until we do, our nation will never heal.

I'll leave you with two things. One is a video. Please watch it. Please.

The other is an article. It's not enough to talk about this. We need to do something. Here are some ideas.

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Next up. Something less politically charged, I'm sure.