I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain.
James Baldwin might very well have been speaking about the hate filled bigots that walk amidst us today, when he said this.
Some more protests down, more feelings emboldened within me, fresh art on my walls.
Still, we’ll rise.
Every time that I am at a protest, I feel like I belong. Like I can stake my claim on this country and refuse to be pushed to the corners and feel like a victim.
As a woman, this fight feels particularly raw and cuts very close to the bone. It has touched a dormant nerve so deep, that has triggered that generationally old place of oppression. Women know it best: if they get away with this, it won’t be long before they turn on us. And our children.
This is the very nature and established pattern of institutionalised subjugation by people in positions of privilege and power.
However, I feel a wave of newness. A fresh breath of hope. Politically too, I believe that the end of the year brought things to a new, barely ever seen before crescendo. I am firmly of the belief that this is going to be a long, slow and perhaps painfully violent march to a new freedom and a new beginning. Things turned when people got out on the streets and have continued to, in unimaginable numbers, back the idea of freedom and love that currently has no single face steering it. For over a month now. No political party affiliations. No single religious groups agenda. No single faction leading this. A true melting pot of unison, and a fight for love over hate, more than anything else. The older generation doesn’t know what to do with this because it provides no answers to their endless whataboutery.
And I find this immensely hopeful.