Be The Change
Correct Language Doesn't Correct Injustice
Changing the language we use when speaking about injustice does not, in and of itself, overturn the injustice.
Politics
27 posts
poetry
Funeral Procession
On a drizzly morning walk I stopped to let a hearse go by, its pitch-black paint sweating polish, and as I waited for the procession I thought about who profits from tragedy, the business of loss, and who profits no matter what,
America on the Brink
Manumission
I so want to be optimistic and airy, to write of our generous spirit, to wax poetic about moon landings and beach landings, entrepreneurship, sliced bread, the assembly line, the World Wide Web. It feels un-American
America on the Brink
Self-Made Man
I hire the police that protect my home from the hordes that would tax me: I need nothing from the State, and so give nothing to the State.
America on the Brink
On Doing Good in America
“How does one with no boots pull himself up by his bootstraps?” “Why teach someone to fish then deny them access to the lake?”
America on the Brink
Daydreaming on a Saturday Afternoon in May During a Pandemic
I just read that the virus is mutating, anti-vaxxers are joining other unsavory elements to protest public health measures, the president doesn’t see the need for mass testing but is now getting tested daily...
poetry
Be Wary of Sadness in Dark Times
I notice my parents’ aging as I do my own: Not at all, then in a photo, all at once.
America on the Brink
Waiting in Line to Donate Blood After A Mass Shooting
This is where we come together, not before but after: The blood already drained, we refill it; we never lack for blood to give.
Capital Good Fund
The Problem With Most Impact Investing
Imagine I told you that by switching your money from one investment vehicle to another—with the click of a button!—you could not only earn the same re
America on the Brink
The Machinery of the State
A relentless South Texas wind poses impossible questions, / flaps the smirking flags until they are upturned, / mists the mown grass with evil's sputum...
America on the Brink
The Frantic Invisible Night
They’ve separated 5,500 children. No, they’ve discarded them like cans of Coca-Cola, 5,500 children who reached our shore like sea foam, salty, crying salt...
America on the Brink
A More Perfect Union
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.