“And I should like to be able to love my country and still love justice. I don't want any greatness for it, particularly a greatness born of blood and falsehood. I want to keep it alive by keeping justice alive." - Albert Camus
When children by gunfire die, when the dreamer and the warden clash, when statues betray the sculptor, we proclaim This is not who we are. Who are we? I take my chisel to Plymouth Rock but the rock gives no blood; our history is like that stone, heavier than its weight… Standing at a dank underpass, I rattle a tin cup, wave a sign that reads This is not who we are— I can grow rich here, devote my life to the pursuit of happiness… It is said that upon his murder, Lincoln belonged to the ages: Why do we wait for blood? We’ve planted great forests of headstones. I wander their lush paths, the sanguine streams, and amidst this grandeur, this horror, I glimpse both what is and what could be. Sunday, August 18, 2019
