Some Further Thoughts

Last week, I paused the quiet memoir pieces I’ve been posting to talk about the death of Alex Pretti at the hand of government agents in my city, Minneapolis.  So many have been writing about this murder and so eloquently, but I had one thought to add:  That if we are to come through the profound disruptions of this time whole, we must learn to see one another, to listen to one another, to care about one another … even and especially across the chasm of the political divide in this country. 

In the days that followed the posting of that blog, though, a question has been grinding at me.  Why has the murder of a white, heterosexual man received more attention than the many outrages that came before?

Yes, I know.  Alex Pretti’s killing was the second in a very short time, which increased its impact greatly. But if Renee Good hadn’t been a woman—and not just a woman but a lesbian!—might her killing have elicited a louder response?

(I’m a lesbian, too, by the way, though because I’m also an old lady, nobody cares.)

And to move on with the same point, wouldn’t there be even fiercer outrage about those being deported with no legal process if they were white … white and straight and male?  And what about the ones dying in those government camps?  Are we even talking about them?  (At the last count, there have been thirty-two deaths in the camps, and those are only the ones we know.)  If straight white men were being disappeared from our streets, locked away without due process, dumped far from home without money or identification or even a phone, surely our entire society would have risen up by now!

All this death and lawlessness has shaken my faith in my government, for certain.  At least it’s shaken my faith in this government.  What it hasn’t done, though, is to alter my belief in my fellow human beings.  Whatever setbacks we are experiencing—and they are enormous—I still choose to believe that our society as a whole is evolving toward greater compassion.  After all, not so long ago, families flocked to hangings for entertainment!  But watching my government succeed in setting its followers against a demonized other proves we still have a long way to go.   

All of which brings me to a different other, the ICE and Border Patrol agents themselves.  And for that conversation, I’m going to quote a friend and fellow writer, Jane Buchanan, from a recent email:

You’ve probably heard me talk about watching Mister Rogers’ TV interview after the US invaded Iraq. When everyone was calling for death to Saddam Hussein, Mister Rogers talked about Saddam’s troubled childhood and said he was praying for him.

Somehow, yesterday, surprisingly, I found myself in a similar place with the masked men who are committing atrocities Minneapolis.

I started thinking about how powerful they must feel to be holding those big guns and marching masked through the streets, creating fear and mayhem. Throwing people to the ground and shooting them. Ten times! That’s not law enforcement, that’s fury unleashed.  How desperate these guys must be to feel powerful. To have their need to be in control, their anger, validated by the highest power in the land— the world, in their minds.

How sad to be so angry, to feel so powerless. And my heart opened, quite unexpectedly. I find myself feeling compassion in the face of atrocity. It’s all so tragic. These men weren’t born this way. They were made.

I wonder, is this outward violence the same impulse as the one that’s turning so many young people to commit violence toward themselves?

Power and control. Or the lack thereof. Isn’t that what it all comes down to? Powerless little boys who grew into men who desperately need to feel that they are in control? At all costs. At any cost. It’s so sad. And what’s to be done?

I guess this is why people pray. We, too, feel powerless in the face of it all.

I agree with all Jane says about the masked men who have invaded my city, about the way powerlessness begets violence.  I agree, too, that, under the onslaught, it’s easy for us to feel powerless, too.  And yet I’m reminded of what Professor Heather Cox Richardson, the historian whose words sustain me daily, has said often, that the government of the United States rests on “the idea that ordinary people have the ultimate political power.”

We, here in Minneapolis and around the country, are taking that power.

And even though I don’t believe, as I know Jane doesn’t either, in a God who, if asked nicely enough, might reach down to intervene in the mess we’re living here, I do believe in the power of our actions, the power of our combined intention, the power of the energy we put out into the world through our passionate caring.

All of which suggests a little prayer would be a very good idea!

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash‍ ‍