Reckoning with Silence

“Most human activities are predicated on the assumption that life goes on. If you take that premise away, what is there left?” (Hard Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World).

“The point of this language of ‘intention’ and ‘personal responsibility’ is broad exoneration. Mistakes were made. Bodies were broken. People were enslaved. We meant well. We tried our best. ‘Good intention’ is a hall pass through history, a sleeping pill that ensures the Dream” (Between the World and Me).

A few days ago, there were no videos circulating the internet showing an innocent black man bleeding out unaided on the pavement of a non-descript street, or the driver’s seat of a normal car. But a few days ago, surely, somewhere in my country, there was an innocent black man being abused, profiled, murdered at the hands of our most visible symbol of justice. Without viral footage, without blood on display, I was able to move all that troubled me to the backburner. I was able to resume my travels in Europe unhindered by the rap of a billy club on a car window, the weight of a pistol, felt even as it hovers over the skin.

The ease with which I turn a blind eye, daily, is evidence of this “assumption that life goes on”. Without it, what appears is the privilege that holds me up for each of my waking, white steps: the assumption itself. Life, going on. 

Indeed, we are all responsible for ourselves, our frame of reference cannot possibly extend further. And my frame of reference cannot escape the body of a white male. But, I feel to be silent is to comply. For me to claim personal exemption from our ongoing racist, violent history because I mean well, because I claim to be non-racist and non-violent, only acquiesces to this racism. It is my sleeping pill, its strength, addicting.

I stand in line to return home on Monday. Today, I am unsure how much further I will have to dig before I can uncover some pellet of national pride, of home sweet home.

More importantly, I stand with the lives lost, the bodies, black, targeted and attacked, today, yesterday, and tomorrow by our entire framework of society. 

In my fists lie a hall pass and a sleeping pill, ready at a moment’s notice. And I quietly assume the coming day. And there is no justice in this.