A harsh world of words
Creation of shallow graves in residential and commercial areas with markings on doors reminds some people of a plague. I’ve been told by more than one person that when they’re walking down the road here they feel like they’re in some horrible zombie movie, some sort of fictional world. It’s interesting to see parts of American entertainment become part of the American way of living, of the American way of dying. When I traveled into town today I did so with a man from Belgium. I’ve really come to really respect him. He lived in Iraq for two years and he’s been a journalist for more than 17 years I believe. When I asked him what his views on this were, what it was like as an outsider. He astutely pointed out the reality of everyone being an outsider. I’m an outsider of the community but not the nation. When I refined my question he discussed the view the world sees, the face America has put on when handling this crisis. It’s a pretty incompetent face with a grim dead stare. It’s a sad day for America in the eyes of the world, the racism, the classism and the outrage muzzled by the so called news channels.I think the way people throw words around in a time of extreme pressure really shows how we feel as collective society.
When a human being becomes a dead body. When a dead body becomes a bio-hazard and a building is not condemmed regardless of destruction. It’s a harsh world full of harsh words. I assume a man or woman living never think their final resting place will be marked by the danger they currently pose to the world. It’s hard for me to see signs that are so cold and true and to see the value placed by people, all of the people be it either local or federal. Who gets rescued here and who is left there. Who makes those choices? Is it first come first served?
I wonder if this person died during the storm or if they were a victim of being unprepared or simply a member of the underclass. I wonder if this person died from a gun shot to the face for being a looter and I wonder if that’s justice. I wonder how people can turn away from the news when this is what is happening. I wonder. I wonder but I have no doubt we’ll never know. Freedom to shoot looters is the freedom to kill people and call them looters. Murder with no questions asked. That’s an unintended consequence if there ever was one. I wonder how many people were slain by police, by owners of houses, by victims. I wonder if everyone has shame for how they’ve collectively acted but feel they had no choice, that their hand was forced. I wonder if anyone feels proud.
I know that I feel sick. I feel sad. I feel like we’ve not advanced as a culture when I hear we still turn guns on people in need, when we don’t help people, when we discount them because “they should have known” or because “they should have left.” It’s such a disconnection of humanity, it’s so disgusting.
Recently I received an email asking if I had seen a local man. The email included a photo of the man and a plea to help. What can someone say to these people? They’re worried beyond anything I’ve ever known, they’re probably insane with fear and full of caring. In the back of their mind hope battles dread with a shotgun. It took me a few days to reply, to really figure out what to say to these people for who I could offer no help, no insight and no eye witness reports of positivity. I finally wrote the person back today to tell them I was sorry but I had no idea of the fate of their friend. I want to give people like that hope but I have no way of doing so in goodconscious . I couldn’t tell them about the labels we put on human faces to help deal away pain and reason. I couldn’t tell them anything like that. I could only say I was sorry.