I just can't take it anymore. The morning news is just too awful, especially as I now wake up every morning in my new home at Green Acre to the view of a Confederate Flag outside my window. There are actually two flags, but the heinous symbol of hate, oppression and fake supremacy is intentionally set erect while Old Glory is set slightly downcast. The pairing screams obscenely.
The flapping violence of that flag is why our headlines are happening. The people who fly it are not "proud to be an American," as much as they are proud to be hate-filled. They are not the exception, hence their rage-monger standard bearer Donald Trump who might just become the next President of the United States.
And yet, here, typing in the ether, is the only place I now feel free to raise my voice when I am home. Now living way outside the bubble of the Atlanta Perimeter, I live in fear. I know from neighbors that he is armed. My expression is abridged by his. I dare not put an "H" on my lawn or car for fear of reprisals.
And yet, I am ashamed. This is such a petty fear. It's my first feeling of true fear compared to the institutionalized fear stitched into the DNA of my dear friends, neighbors, and fellow Americans who do not share my pale complexion.
My fear is white privilege.
A very conservative friend who is native to central Louisiana told me that in the middle of downtown Atlanta she is afraid to brandish a Trump-Pence sign. Well, at least she doesn't have to fear that her liberal neighbors will shoot her or burn a cross in her yard. Her fear is social. Mine is visceral.
Throughout the span of my life, the country I love has been on a long march to ensure equality for all. And I have been so proud to be an American alive during this time in history. But with each morning headline, that pride has been shattered.
Each day since 2008 a headline has screamed of murder by police, by mad gunmen in schools and community cinemas, by disaffected first generation Americans abused by and infused with hate.
My heart is broken.