I am exhausted and ashamed from participating in the carnival of horrors that came to life in Charlottesville this weekend.
I was not there. I watched it all from the news, and followed along on Twitter as people identified the contorted faces of the white supremacists, relieved that my name didn't come up.
How do I describe seeing the sins I pretend I have not committed take life and walk the streets? Is it a horrifying gift, or an indictment? Did the poisons in my blood extract themselves, or just mutate in a funhouse mirror?
I am no white supremacist. How easy is that to say! I am not that. I can wallow in the convenience of this Tidy Other until I am nauseous, and still will not look in the mirror.
Huffing during rush hour at someone. Standing silent while people sympathize that my kids being white is a disadvantage, college-money wise, these days. Standing silent while people mutter about EBT cards and welfare queens.
Standing silent. If I put the Black Lives Matter sticker on my car, will it change how people treat me at work? Will I get yelled at in traffic? But at least I'm not a white supremacist! Where's that bumper sticker?
Violent racists walked the streets, screaming, fighting, and ultimately killing. Donald Trump couldn't bring himself to denounce the the white supremacists, and risk offending his base.
I wore myself out playing a righteous whack-a-mole game with only 2 holes. I scored really high. Why don't I feel prouder?