The feeling of it all is very familiarly Southern. And their death cries defeat death, and last forever, and poverty only feeds it. (To stray just a bit geographically:
The permanent jaw-dropping poverty of Appalachia never, as
far as I know, caused an upwelling of class
The Civil War was a massive mistake; the South got
the job of being America's Jungian shadow; and
there are no do-overs.
Or rather, there are just over and over and overs.
* * *
If memory serves: Maggie Heineman, a great leader in PFLAG,
once told of how she (I hope I'm not thinking of someone
else), in church, got to hear the Religion Man go on and on,
for about a decade, about Those Coloreds. And then she
got to hear the Religion Man go on and on, for about a decade,
about Those Women's Libbers. And then she (writing in
1994) was getting an earful of the Religion Man go on
and on about Those Homosexuals,... and that this looked like
it was going to continue for at least a decade— and she
wrote that this was making her just so... tired.
In her position, somewhere in the first decade, I would
just have been tired, and probably figured "okay,
this will blow over, and then it's back to: let's be nice to
poor people, etc.".
But as things round into me figuring "all I can remember for
most of my adult life is this, this, and things just like
this", then that is the point where I hope I could push
through the fatigue, and work back to what must have been my
first instinct, or at least a primal one:
I'll take this Religion Place, and burn it, burn it to the
GROUND! And if the Religion Man dies, basting in
his own fat, gimme a plus-one bonus!
Reparations. Start now and
avoid the rush later.
* * *
And as always, as aaaaaaalways in life: triple points if
you make it look like an accident.
As to whether the progress can only be delayed but not stopped,... I have had, for years, a half-formulated metaphor
in my mind, something of a response to Mama Cass:
my money and blood and sanity and life, and have
been for all my time on this Sargasso of a
planet– but I suppose they will
have to eventually taper off of me out of sheer boredom,
or "diminishing returns", or maybe a speck of
oh, well, okay, Mama Cass,
maybe that does constitute a new day coming, just
around the bend.