A lot is pulling me toward England, even more pushing me away from America.
When I was young I remember watching episodes of “20/20”, journalists were exposing stories of toys that were choking kids. After one kid died and the 20/20 show aired, the toymaker recalled all of their products and released a new one safer for babies.
I recall having the feeling that adults would change their practices and lose a ton of money, all to save the life of one child; it was too costly for a company to appear ok with even one child dying.
Both the Rittenhouse and the Arbery cases show that gun rights people believe the second amendment authorizes them to do much more than shoot a home intruder.
In both cases the perpetrators BROUGHT their guns to the people they wanted to shoot. In both cases when a scuffle ensued DIRECTLY AS A RESULT OF THE PRESENCE OF A GUN, they shot their weapons and killed unarmed people.
In both cases they used self defense as justification for their actions.
The only thing that can keep white privilege in check is people of privilege
Applause for the unified anger from the American public. I see folks from all political and religious backgrounds unanimously condemning violence against black men.
But it’s a mistake to think that convicting the police officers who killed George Floyd will solve the problem. The questions we ought to be asking: What is behind the violence? What led us to this point?
It’s not just plain old racism, there is a monster that feeds it from behind the scenes, a monster we let grow like a cancer; the true enemy is when the privileged don’t stand up to white privilege.
It is this passive allowance that attempted to lynch Christian Cooper in Central Park. When we leave privilege unchecked it emboldens white people to become the vigilantes who lynched Ahmaud Arbery in broad daylight. When we are too afraid to speak against white privilege we press our knee down on George Floyd’s neck, staring into the camera without remorse.
Somewhere in the early 90s, a preteen version of me sits with my big brother at a pizza restaurant in our hometown of Fremont, California. The place is empty, and as we enjoy a slice, a man in his 20s or 30s approaches our table and asks for change.
Young and meek, I looked to my brother, hoping he would take the lead.
“No, we don’t have any,” my brother replied. Intimidated by the situation, I didn’t look up.
As the man stalked out of the restaurant, he yelled, “Why don’t you go back to your own country!”