In a colony, condemnation is like the deformed blood of the lamb we begrudgingly paint on our doors praying you—the colonizer—will distinguish us from the rest of the rebellious population you come to slaughter. Thus, to complete the ritual, when a plague of resistance occurs that bleeds outside of your blood drawn colonial lines, you demand our condemnation. You insist we deplore the “use of human shields” when nothing exists behind them but more human beings whom you will bomb and sanction into oblivion whether we choose to resist or not. You urge that we denounce the pig provoked riots . . .
Gaza is starved, beaten, bombed, and trapped,Haiti is sabotaged, poisoned, violated,the “civilized world” moves swiftly past the dark shadow it casts. A pale face is bloodied, a European screams,the white world erupts, In chaotic fury and culpable tears they don their blue and white or yellow,and scream “justice!”and decry “savagery!”and type “terrorists!” the white world trembles, death is her blanket They mobilize funds and pass bills and sail warships and buy commercials,because the white world is well-funded.And we could laugh if their ignorance did not deal death, if the house did not always seem to have the odds on its . . .
For Those Whom History Will Absolve, Revolution is on the horizon comrades. Those of us in the deepest depths of the bottom barrel of society, all of the working women, men, and everyone who rejects the often simplistic, rigid, and patriarchal binary of those two categories are continuing the creation of, through resistance, the world we so desperately need and deserve. The beauty in this dialectical circumstance and the immeasurable bravery it requires to dismantle the capitalist world system does not blind you, naïveté about the task at hand does not exist because everyday that revolution remains on the horizon, . . .
This morning I’m calling on any softness in the verb “deserve.” I believe public discussion of the feeling’s often hijacked, then weaponized in this country by influential racists, uterus-haters or capitalists. Most of us are just workers, customers unintentionally feeding the babies we were screwed for too much arsenic— power is always a key distinction. Stuck in my tenacious twenties, I’ve been making sales at a smoke shop for close to a year and a half now. At the seven-ish month mark of my time at Hookah Hookup, a sweet, white, 1996-born millennial was hired to sell for the company . . .
Advertisements are ramping up, words are becoming fiercer, and skeletons are coming out of candidates’ closets. This game is nothing new, yet we play it all the time. What does it mean to vote? What does the election spectacle do for us? Within a bourgeois fantasy, it is to elect a person who is totally accountable to the community they represent. I mean . . . this is the ideal, an ideal which has material consequences. The fantasies are, in some perverted way, a reality. The structures and institutions we all engage with organize around these principles rooted in anti-blackness . . .