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With regard to this specific subject, I’ve never struggled to understand why people have struggled to understand me.
I mention my personal experience because as a member of the “but he should be!
The piece considers Morrison’s lofty stature as “the conscious of America,” an acknowledgement gracing Morrison — perhaps as a necklace, perhaps as a noose — for her body of work’s fearless gaze upon American racism with what Hoby describes as a “steadiness of rage and compassion.” For me, the rage comes easily — a gnarled bat resting on my shoulder like bluebirds do for Disney princesses singing in forests. More directly, the idea of confronting American racism with compassion has left me dragging rigid fingertips not so much through my hair but against my scalp, kinesics indicating less a need to hold onto something as much as a need to break through — possibly American racism for freedom of the soul, or possibly my skull for freedom from this idea of compassion as a necessity for killing beasts.There are facts — only a Google search away — which speak to why this occurs.But there are also my emotions which often remind me that most of what I know regarding this subject I know from personal anguish.Hoby doesn’t specify how Morrison wields her “compassion,” but I’ve been considering the word more regularly as of late on account of the combative response to the arrest of Bill Cosby.The halls of the internet have blared with declarations from both ends.
Suspicion surrounds the timing of the arrest — as it nips at the heels of the distressing exoneration of Tamir Rice’s killer, Timothy Loehmann — and challenges the outcries of more than fifty accusers and their supporters.