Maybe I’d have a bigger positive impact in my community by keeping a few of my self-righteous opinions to myself and rolling up my sleeves for some real work. Maybe we all would.
I’m a first generation American, and my immigrant parents raised me with the belief that this is the greatest country in the world; a belief I still firmly hold to this day. Does this mean that I think the United States is perfect? Hell no.
They shared the same heart, the same torso, the same ass, the same penis. What they didn’t share were any opinions. They couldn’t even toast a slice of bread without a vicious political argument breaking out.
White supremacists took his silence and his pause as an endorsement of their views — and their violence.
Charlottesville is the last nail in Bannon’s political coffin.
Holocaust deniers are an extreme example of historical revisionism and one that we generally deny right back at them. However, what about the revision that we see in modern history against people of color? What about in 2015 when a Texas mother was absolutely horrified to hear that African slaves were described as “workers” in a map that depicted patterns of immigration in the United States?
I feel overwhelmed with all these feelings. I thank God that my daughter isn’t old enough to comprehend what is currently going on in this country. Hopefully, by the time she is, things have changed.
I have an idea that our political meltdown will be good for art. It imposes a new set of constraints, and for me constraints are liberating.
As a child, I had the great freedom of only having to argue my beliefs that the Backstreet Boys were better than my sister’s favorite: N*SYNC. Pokemon being more popular than Digimon was the only injustice I was aware of, and recycling or saving the rainforests were learned as life lessons to become good stewards, rather than political positions.
“You have to be willing to let your soul die to enter the areas of darkness necessary to pull the large fish swimming in the ocean of the political unconscious.”