It has been hard to know what to write, or even to sit down and actually word instead of starting out into space for the whole of the writing hour. For someone who’s brain never stops churning and who can always release a torrent of words, letters, phrases with pen in hand or fingers on keyboard…this is a first.
It’s not even an inability to write fiction because I also journal as a kind of outlet in paper journals, of which some does manage to get edited and then slung onto either my alter ego blog or the personal blog I’ve had for 16 years now. I’ve sat with pen in hand and open book and just haven’t been able to put the maelstrom in my head into words, into a context that I myself can more easily understand instead of the shrieking furious howling. The hurricane of sheer emotion sweeps me away every time and I come back to myself, no words written, just tear marks and ink splashes. I don’t know what to do with this. I’ve always managed to wrangle my feelings back under some kind of control, but I am unable to this time.
There is no balm in Gilead.
I use my actual voice when I must (because speaking out loud exhausts me and there are less dangers with written words than there are with spoken ones) to encourage and amplify because while this is a month celebrating people like me – there are other things that are more important right now at this very moment.
The first Pride was a riot.
It is not a coincidence that this year we are closer to our roots than ever before. It is not a coincidence that there are so many people out in the streets and in the parks and on the roads than we’ve seen in a long time.
This has been coming for a very long time, some longer than others. There have been sparks here and there before, fires that maybe might have caught on like this has, but didn’t. Got snuffed out before they grew too large. Got shelved under the heading of “that’s too bad, but it’s nowhere near me/not my issue/not my problem.”
That line of thinking has always been wrong.
This is everywhere. It crosses borders, oceans, barriers of all kinds. You can’t escape it. There is nowhere on the planet where you can go to escape this. The virus has forced your/our/the world’s hands.
It’s not for nothing that generations of people are in the streets, protesting. Leaving the safety of their homes (if indeed they are privileged enough to have the sanctity of their homes respected) to protest against the senseless murder of Black people. Risking their lives in order to try and show the governments, small and large, that we’re not shutting up this time. We’re not going to allow you to pacify us, we will have justice for every single person wrongfully killed.
If the only way to move forward is to demolish the structures that led us to this place, this system that is so very flawed and so very biased – then that’s what we’ll do. This nation was founded on ideals, so the mythology goes, and it’s past time to start actually living up to that.
A nation of freedom for ALL people. Not just the white ones. Not just the straight ones.
Donate where you can, whether it’s time or money or space. Amplify voices when and where you can. Keep pushing forwards. Keep calling senators and congresspeople and representatives, local, state, and federal. Don’t give up.
https://bailfunds.github.io/ A Comprehensive List of Bail Funds throughout the US
https://nymag.com/strategist/article/where-to-donate-for-black-lives-matter.html#victim-memorial 137 links for various organizations to help support Black Lives Matter and communities of color.