I saw Selma last Friday evening. Immediately after work, solo. I was surrounded by some who looked like me, and some who didn’t.
We all watched silently, with reverence and respect. But no one really looked at each other. Maybe in different ways, and for different reasons, it just hurt too much to acknowledge our common humanity.
Or maybe we were just so full.
My family, the Harris Family, is from Alabama. And I grew up on the South Side of Chicago. So I did not need to SEE Selma. Like many of African Americans, I
know the history. We ARE the history. But I did need to FEEL it. I needed to receive the spiritual energy, from those actors depicting the Selma participants, so that I could forward it to Ferguson. To France. To the Sudan. To Israel – both Israels. To each of you.
Oppression, in all of its inglorious racial, gender, political, religious, sexual-orientation, and socio-economic horror, is on the run.
It has always been on the run.
But only because we keep chasing it. We prefer to chase it with love and nonviolence. However, there are trying times when vengeance and a can of Whup-Ass is required. Either way, oppression is running out of breath, out of real estate, and out of time.
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