Begging For Change

In the same way that watching human beings beg for small coins - soliciting, as it were, a token of acknowledgement from others - on the street makes my sense of justice crawl, so does the essential message of Mrs. Oneal Moore:

"You may not love us, but you don't have to kill us."

Mrs. Moore, MaeVella, is the widow of one of the first black sherriff's deputies in Louisiana. Her husband was killed at the age of 34 in his patrol car by a still-unnamed, -unidentified individual in a drive by shooting in 1965.

The FBI has determined recently that it now needs to reopen civil rights-related murders.

The sentiment behind both statements can be boiled down to the essence of disease that is undermining our society as we speak: too little, too late, maybe, but it's enough for us!

Why are we reduced to begging for change? Whether that change comes in the form of social, financial and educational guidance/foundation/opportunity, or whether it comes in the form of increased tolerance, acceptance and compassion. Perhaps the latter qualities are necessary to motivate the former responsibilities?

Whatever. We don't have them. And we drive ourselves to a point of desperation that demands only a meager showing on the part of our oppressors (that's us again!) to give us hope.

So, rather than solve racially-motivated wrongs of today, we dig in the crates for an excuse not to pay attention - to solve the cases that have only sentimental value now.

And, rather than solve the economically-institutionalized wrongs of today, we pass out pennies to assuage our conscience, watching as another human wilts on the street at our feet.

I'm so proud.

By the way, did everyone enjoy their holiday? Did you take note, for even a moment, that Memorial Day is 'celebrated' in honor of those that have died for our 'way of life'?

I'm thinking a funeral for our way of life is just about right.

FUCK! What will it take to demand love, to demand respect, and to get out there and earn it for yourself?

(Apologies: I just discovered, within the skin of a dear dear friend, the heart of a bullshitter. The bitterness pervades all.)