A very long time ago, I saw a newspaper article and its associated photograph. I couldn’t breathe as I took in the anger, sorrow, injustice, rage and grief. I always am angry with myself for not finding the photographer. Carefully, I forgive myself that I followed copyright law in my use of their image (I only copied parts of it…). The parts of it spoke. Sometimes to blog with you, I simply open my files and wait for something to declare itself. Today, this is it. I called it My sister, Our Death.
I think of my birth country and all the sick racism. I see my last home country and its grinding racism. I see my new home coutry and read more and listen to its horrendous racism. I think of different countries with family members and friends raging at the injustice happening to them at the expense of someone else’s random power. Horribly, we can pick any year of existence somewhere on our planet and find such abuse of power and its ensuing rage and grief.
It must stop. What I did those years ago was read the article, stare at the image, get close to these people by drawing them in a new place on new paper in a home they never knew and dwell with them. The more we can truly see, get energy to engage with someone else’s truth and relay their truth as honestly as we can, the injustice will stop. It will. Eventually. Because more and more of us are speaking and doing. Over the last few years, we’ve seen hell on earth. We’ve also seen people who never in their lives would have risen up to react now by truth telling their rage - as they carry and care for their neighbours. I urge you to rage and love as hard as you can. Deep peace be with you and give you energy.
