Anyone who has read Freud knows that past is present when it comes to the traumas of our ancestors, especially when we do not consciously heal our family lines. This is also true of nations, which is why so many international wars stem from centuries-old conflicts. It is also why every person living in the United States, regardless of their race, religion, or where their ancestors lived 150 years ago, is impacted by slavery – its unmerited entitlements for white people; its dehumanizing exploitation and abuse of black people. Nowhere is this legacy more evident than in the U.S. criminal justice system’s grave mistreatment of people of color – especially black males. Policing the Black Man, an essay collection edited by activist and academic Angela Davis, lays out how African American men have remained endangered by our law enforcement system since “Juneteenth” – June 19, 1865 – when the slaves in the former Confederacy of the southern United States were officially emancipated. Continue Reading →
Archive | Past Matters
Mystical Forests and Shetls of the Mind
This summer, the city has been almost hospitable except for a few weeks when, ahem, I have just happened to be out of town: California during that June heat wave and upstate this last week. I’m due to return tomorrow, just as the temperature will finally plunge below 90. Continue Reading →
That Stranger Called My Life
I just saw an old lover on the street. He didn’t see me or at least he pretended he didn’t, but I got a good eyeful. We were together off and on for many years and I hadn’t seen him in two. Recently he had a big birthday, so he’s been on my mind though our connection is too dangerous to reignite with a polite phone call or card. We live in the same neighborhood so it’s a wonder we don’t run into each other more often. I often think the Universe is protecting us by ensuring we don’t. We caused each other a lot of pain–more than the great pleasure we gave each other, even.
He was talking to someone–a friend, it looked like, though not a close one. Maybe a colleague. I watched him clap his big hand on that man’s shoulder, then make his way down the street in the opposite direction from me. My old lover seemed smaller and bigger, blurrier and more filled in. It was a shock to see him alive at all–still human, not just an animation of my many memories. Continue Reading →