Blame the Asians, Jews and Blacks, blame Progressive Politicians. Blame the Natives. Launch attacks unrestrained by inhibitions. Bring your weapons, lock and load, wage your fiery hate invasions. Let society implode. Blame the Asians.
I’d like to spend a morning in the boots of Jedediah Smith out pioneering before the carpetbaggers in cahoots with industry showed up for profiteering.
I’d stand atop the continental peak and whisper not a clue that it divided a nation burgeoning with ripe mystique. I’d plant a “Keep Out” sign before it’s blighted.
But how could I usurp another first to scale a virgin summit as she crested above a crystal lake and quench the thirst for worth where never other eyes had rested.
The value of the vista they’d behold transcends the weight of Rocky Mountain gold.
For those who think America’s history began with the arrival of white settlers. “After 75 years of obscurity following his death, Smith was rediscovered as the American whose explorations led to the use of the 20-mile (32 km)-wide South Pass as the dominant point of crossing the Continental Divide for pioneers on the Oregon Trail.”
While the churches keep turning a back on compassion, condoning the pack of unholy behavior that summons no savior for immigrants under attack…
and the health of the nation’s in peril because of increasingly feral resistance to glean benefits of vaccine to encompass the whole human barrel…
and the workers are saddled with debt by the predator class who abet exploitation of minions by driving opinions that fairness to all is a threat…
and with few on alert to the whiff of the greedy tyrannical skiff that’s engaging the motors to overthrow voters, democracy’s over a cliff.
Lest we lose any semblance of hope while unrolling the last foot of rope, tie a knot in the end and let’s try to pretend that we’re not on a slippery slope.
(with a nod to the timeless fable and apologies to Leonard Cohen, Rascal Flatts, and Joan Baez)
Democracy, your waterbearers’ burden is woefully unbalanced as the schemes of lords and ladies on the hill have hoarded the vessel that contains our common dreams.
It may appear America is leaking the essence of the best it might have been, but “there’s a crack in everything”. A trickle can nurture hope, “that’s how the light gets in”.
Your promise of equality and freedom for all has languished in the hands of few for centuries. We’re ready for our blessing, “the broken road that leads (us) straight to you”.
As trampled seeds of progress line the shoulders along the path, replenishment relies on sharing distribution of the bounty that longs to shower down from cloudless skies.
Let sunshine pierce the depths of every crevice and justice flow like water to replace the field of opposition in obstructing “the president (who) sang Amazing Grace”.
“When you have only ever experienced privilege, equality feels like oppression.” ― Adam Rutherford
Here’s Karen, captured from a foreign realm, stacked in a leaky vessel through a storm where all the crew, from cargo hold to helm, were black and bold, the undisputed norm.
She’s told to buckle down and never whine about the weight of sorrow on her back from stolen heritage. “What’s yours is mine,” they say, “we’ve set you on an equal track.”
But drowning in an ocean fraught with tears or stranded in a desert parched with thirst, the vestige of oppression through the years can never fade until the tide’s reversed.
Why should it threaten them if she demands a sign that someone sees and understands?
“My daddy changed the world.” Gianna Floyd, at only six, already understands that something monumental has occurred. She joins the ranks of children left to bear the burden of a murderous design infused into the bedrock of our nation.
Four hundred years of history reveal the willful subjugation of a line of people who, despite the barricades, survive in force to raise a mighty roar that shatters all illusion. We must stand in truth to finalize emancipation.
No longer will the platitudes suffice nor “thoughts and prayers” assuage an open wound. The time for reckoning is NOW, the day will soon give way to dusk, the moment lost forever if denial perseveres. The case demands authentic reparation.
We’re appalled in confronting the picture — a reflection for too long denied — of a country that’s spiraling swiftly down the drain in its ethical slide.
As each visible blemish emerges it uncovers what runs underneath that’s more painful and deeply enduring than the spinach between our front teeth.
We’ve been stripped of our make-believe mantle in assuming an elegant pose, for that arrogant profile’s now hidden by the hideous wart on our nose.
What we fancied a flawless complexion is revealed as a sallow facade tinged with orange, an outbreak of acne that is oozing infection abroad.
It’s a face only Mother could cherish, overdue for a treatment to rout every trace of disease and self-loathing. We are one. “As within, so without.”
“There comes a time when silence is betrayal.” The words of Doctor Martin Luther King hang heavy in the air. Intentions fail to halt the arc of hatred’s brutal swing.
The centuries of organized oppression are coming to a climax. You and I must take a stand for justice. Shy discretion is not a virtue when the stakes are high.
As hard-won rights are carelessly dismantled before our eyes, the growing battle zone erupting in the streets cannot be handled with slacktivism. None should march alone.
Resisting with a vengeance, beat the drum and shout in unison, “The time has come!”
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