How to Grieve in Public
This is a question, not an answer
Keenan Anderson was tased, ultimately to death, by LAPD officers while agitated and in obvious mental distress after his car broke down.
Eighteen Asian American women and men were murdered in both Monterey Park and Half Moon Bay, in the largest mass shootings since Uvalde (which was only 8 months ago) this weekend, on the cusp of New Year’s celebrations. Safety and joy pierced through by bullets.
I still think about—grieve in terror—the murder of Elijah McCain, who begged and attempted to contort his very being to please his killers, to no avail. Atatiana Jefferson, whose nephew carries the memory of her murder, in her own home, by a random home invader who was also an officer. Botham Jean, who was gunned down by an off-duty officer for existing in his apartment, and who has a street named after him now, which I guess should be an honor, but to me the sign serves as a constant reminder that I can be killed anywhere for any reason.
I remember the children, women, and men found suffocated here in Texas last year. Fifty-three souls, longing for a better life, and left abandoned in a metal semi trailer under the sweltering Texas sun.
My mind feels like a makeshift morgue.
I don’t know how to talk about this grief and anger anymore.
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