My thoughts on the conservative response to the tragic shooting at the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina.

With tongue firmly in cheek:

  1. When it is a white guy, it is always a lone gunman with no ties to any organized group,
  2. It is never terrorism when a white Christian does it (unless you are attempting to use the anti-gay rhetoric that liberal society hates biblical Christians so this isn’t about race at all but persecution),
  3. Young, white men who commit atrocious crimes are sick or unstable or mentally ill, never thugs
  4. ALL crimes are “hate crimes” and punishing people for thinking bad thoughts while they murder people because of the color of their skin would give certain victims ‘special rights’
  5. It doesn’t matter how many massacres there are, it is always TOO EARLY to talk about sensible gun safety
  6. It isn’t about race when a white man who has cold-bloodedly killed nine people and flees the jurisdiction is arrested without a single shot fired while a person of color, walking down the street can be gunned down by police
  7. But we’re in a post racial society because the President of the United States is black

In all seriousness, my heart grieves for the families and friends of the victims and for the citizens of this nation.

I don’t have a lot of words of my own but Charles Pierce in Esquire had a great piece – Charleston Shooting: Speaking the Unspeakable, Thinking the Unthinkable. Please read and share it.

The words of Langston Hughes in his poem The Bitter River have never felt more real:

There is a bitter river
Flowing through the South.
Too long has the taste of its water
Been in my mouth.
There is a bitter river
Dark with filth and mud.
Too long has its evil poison
Poisoned my blood.

I’ve drunk of the bitter river
And its gall coats the red of my tongue,
Mixed with the blood of the lynched boys
From its iron bridge hung,
Mixed with the hopes that are drowned there
In the snake-like hiss of its stream
Where I drank of the bitter river
That strangled my dream:
The book studied-but useless,
Tool handled-but unused,
Knowledge acquired but thrown away,
Ambition battered and bruised.
Oh, water of the bitter river
With your taste of blood and clay,
You reflect no stars by night,
No sun by day.

The bitter river reflects no stars-
It gives back only the glint of steel bars
And dark bitter faces behind steel bars:
The Scottsboro boys behind steel bars,
Lewis Jones behind steel bars,
The voteless share-
cropper behind steel bars,
The labor leader behind steel bars,
The soldier thrown from a Jim Crow bus behind steel bars,
The 150 mugger behind steel bars,
The girl who sells her body behind steel bars,
And my grandfather’s back with its ladder of scars
Long ago, long ago-
the whip and steel bars-
The bitter river reflects no stars.

“Wait, be patient,” you say.
“Your folks will have a better day.”
But the swirl of the bitter river
Takes your words away.
“Work, education, patience
Will bring a better day-”
The swirl of the bitter river
Carries your “patience” away.
Trouble maker!” you say.

The swirl of the bitter river
Sweeps your lies away.
I did not ask for this river
Nor the taste of its bitter brew.
I was given its water
As a gift from you.
Yours has been the power
To force my back to the wall
And make me drink of the bitter cup
Mixed with blood and gall.

You have lynched my comrades
Where the iron bridge crosses the stream,
Underpaid me for my labor,
And spit in the face of my dream.
You forced me to the bitter river
With the hiss of its snake-like song-
Now your words no longer have meaning-
I have drunk at the river too long:
Dreamer of dreams to be broken,
Builder of hopes to be smashed,
Loser from an empty pocket
Of my meagre cash,
Bitter bearer of burdens
And singer of weary song,
I’ve drunk at the bitter river
With its filth and its mud too long.
Tired now of the bitter river,
Tired now of the pat on the back,
Tired now of the steel bars
Because my face is black,
I’m tired of segregation,
Tired of filth and mud,
I’ve drunk of the bitter river
And it’s turned to steel in my blood.

Oh, tragic bitter river
Where the lynched boys hung,
The gall of your bitter water
Coats my tongue.
The blood of your bitter water
For me gives back no stars.
I’m tired of the bitter river!
Tired of the bars.

We have to talk about this. We have to commit to ensuring our communities are safe from hateful acts of violence. It starts with us.

Say it with me: I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do the something that I can do. *

*Quote from Edward Everett Hale