discrimination


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I’ve been asked about my “anger” many times. What do you have to be ”Angry” about? Why are you the “Angry African”? Why indeed…

I would rather have a good meal. Maybe help my wife prepare the food. Get the table ready. Talk about whether we should have brocolli or peas or carrots to go with the maple syrup chicken and roast potatoes she just made. That’s what I would rather do. Just have a good meal together with my family. Sitting at the table and laughing at the silliness of my daughters. Making funny noises and joking with their mother. Good times. Me, my family and a good meal. I would rather have a good meal. No need for anger here.

But how can I? How can I just have a meal when I know that somewhere out there in Zambia is a family arguing about how they divide the last of the nsima. Maybe this will be the last meal they share together. Because tomorrow brings no food and no hope. Maybe tomorrow the kids will have to go down to the charity handing out food and slip some away for ma and pa back home. But will grandma make it? Can she wait another 24 hours before she gets a little something to eat. No laughing or poking of fun. Not when the bones on their bodies are poking hard at their skin. How can there be no anger?

I would rather watch telly. Just vegetate and do nothing. Stare blankly at the screen. Flip channels because I can’t decide between CSI Miami or Kitchen Nightmares. Or maybe I should watch that Bond movie I taped? Or watch Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King again? Yeah. That’s what I want to do. Just stare at the telly and think of nothing. No anger here.

But how can I? How can I stare at the telly when tonight someone might be staring at the barrel of a gun somewhere in the Congo? No channels for them to watch. Maybe tonight will be the last time they see anything. I can change the channel but they can’t change their lives. I can play with the remote but they are here. Waiting for me to think of them. Always hiding somewhere in my conscious. Waiting to flip the channel of my brain to their station. No static. Just their lives waiting to be changed while they live a reality life. How can there be no anger?

I would much rather read a good book. Maybe just finish one of the many I am reading right now. Should I go with Mao and his killing or read about hope through the eyes of Obama? Maybe just get away from all that stuff and laugh at Bill Bryson telling me about A Short History of Nearly Everything. Aah. That what I want to do. Just read my book and let my mind slip away for a little bit. No anger here.

But how can I? How can I read a book when tomorrow the children will go and work those cocoa fields? The pages they flip are the pages of their life going past. One empty page after the other. Or maybe it is a horror. The horror of their lives. Living a Stephen King life larger than even he can imagine. But maybe some khat will help numb the pain. At least it will take away the glint in their eyes. And the empty pages of their life can be seen in their empty stares. How can there be no anger?

I would much rather play with my kids. Play outside like the crazy gang we are. Wild splashing we call swimming down at the lake. And go down that snowy hill when winter comes. Just me and my girls. Crazy, crazy, crazy. All I want is to hear their laughing and more laughing at their silly dad. Egging them on. Come on! You can do it girl! That’s what I would much rather want. Me and my crazy girls. Having fun. No anger here.

But how can I? When the other kids are running away from the warlord down the road. Playing dodgeball with the bullets. Not a sound of joy and belly laughs to be heard coming from their mouths. Just cries of pain as the bullets hit. Lucky if it misses. Dodge, dodge, dodge. That the games they play in the Congo. How can there be no anger?

I would must rather lie next to my wife. Falling asleep and hearing her breathe next to me. I can feel the stress of the day just slip away. Here is where I belong. Always telling her how much I love her. I can never say it too much or too often. And I run home because that is where I want to be. Just there next to her. My lovely wife. The one who gives me meaning. No anger here.

But how can I? When the women in Africa have to walk miles and miles just to get a drop of water for their homes. Every day. Down to the river and back. In the rush forgetting to boil it clean. And they see their families die around them. From a simple thing like drinking dirty water. How can I look at my wife and not see those women carry Africa on their backs being beaten and beaten and beaten. Day in and day out. Rape and murder. That’s what lies next to them at night. Death and destruction giving them meaning. How can there be no anger?

I would much rather just go on holiday. Maybe take a trip to Europe and visit those fancy French. Some cheese and red wine. Aah, that’s the life. Or laugh and point at Mickey and Minnie down at Disney. Maybe get away for just a week or two and visit my friend back home. Another trip to Bucks County would be nice. Just me and my three girls. Hanging out in New Hope for a drink and maybe a small piece of memory for the mantle. No anger here.

But how can I? When the only break my people get is another trade deal that fails. Or another empty promise for those dying of aids or malaria. Or the breaking of another leg as the torture continues in countries down South and East. But also here in the North and West. Broken promises to go with their broken lives. How can there be no anger?

I really just want to hang with my friends. Or drink a coffee by myself. Sip by sip. A braai and a good old fire. Learn to play the guitar like I’ve always wanted. Or write that bloody book that’s been bugging me for years. Save some money and retire early. Go for a drive in my car to watch the leaves go all rainbow in fall. The good things. That’s all I ever really want to do. Take it easy and stay easy. A smile, a laugh and good times.

I don’t want anger. I hate anger. It’s not nice. And it is not me.

Why am I angry?

I know happiness. I know what it is. I have it. Oh boy, do I have it. But I can’t enjoy it. At least not the way I want to enjoy it… Fully. I want to give myself totally to happiness. I want to live my happy days by throwing myself at it. Just living it 24/7.

That’s what pisses me off. That I can’t just enjoy life because of bigots. Because of liberty for some. Equality for those who can afford it. Freedom for those who were born free. Justice for those at the top.

I am angry because I can’t enjoy my life thanks to oppression of others. My right to have a fun time is shot to hell because of the rights of others being shot to hell. Bullet by bullet. Every warlord pisses me off because they remind me of what I am missing because of them. They are taking away my happiness because they are taking away the happiness of others.

I am angry because my friends and people I don’t even know can’t just love who they want. I love my wife. I love my wife. But the more I love her the more I am reminded of those who can’t love the way we love. That their love is somehow less meaningful than our love. I am pissed at bigots taking away happiness because they are taking away the rights of others.

I am pissed and angry for purely selfish reasons. I don’t want to fight for the rights of kids to have a shot at a life. I don’t want to fight for justice in the world trade and aid system. I don’t want to fight for the freedom of African women. I don’t want to fight for the equality of my gay friends who want to get married. I don’t want to fight for the liberty of the slaves working the sweatshops or farms in China or Africa. I don’t want to do all this crap. I want nothing to do with any of this.

I. Do. Not. Want. To. Do. This.

I just want to sit back and enjoy my life. Just me, my girls and my friends. Happy times. Good times.

But I can’t. And that is what pisses me off. That is what makes me angry. That is what makes me the Angry African.

I can only go do nothing when there is nothing to be done. When others can afford to do nothing. When everyone has a shot. You bloody people. With your rights and freedoms and liberty and equality and justice. Just have it already.

Fuck. Dammit. And everything and anything else that go with that.

I am because we are. Ubuntu.

I can only stop caring about what to watch on telly when there is nothing to care about. I can only be happy watching my kids go crazy when you have a shot at happiness. I can only have the liberty to drink my coffee sip after slow sip when you have liberty. I can only have my braai in peace when you have peace. I can only be the equal of my wife when we all are equal. I can only have justice when you have justice.  My freedom is your freedom…

I can only be free when you are free.

I can only be me when you can be you.

Until then… I am the Angry African.

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We won and we lost. Obama winning helped to put one piece of injustice to sleep. But injustice is still with us. Discrimination is still lurking in the laws. Liberty is still for the select few. Freedom is still not for all of us. Equality still hunts us down like we were on cotton plantations.

Because “they” are still not allowed to get married. “They” are still held as second class citizens. Tell me? Who the hell are “they”?

Bullshit. Bullshit I tell you.

It’s like playing that whack-the-mole game. You hit one piece of bigotry on the head and another one pops up. Whack! Whack! Whack! It never stops. But unlike the game, we can’t pull the plug on bigotry. Their batteries get charged by their own hatred.

Look. I am REALLY getting sick and tired of this. There is no “they”.

There. Is. No. They.

There is only us. “They” are you who are bigots. The only people who are “they” are those who preach hatred. Hatred for gays, hatred for Africans, hatred for African-Americans, hatred for rednecks, hatred for Jews, hatred for Muslims, hatred for Christians, hatred for… and more hatred and more hatred and more hatred.

You! Yes you! Bigot! That one who hates gays. Or who doesn’t want “them” to have the same rights as everyone else. All that separates you from burning “them” on a cross is some wood and matches. All that separates you from strapping a bomb to your chest and blowing them up is a book in your hand and a different language. Bigotry is bigotry. Hatred is hatred. It’s only the degrees that differ.

You think you are so different from those who kill innocent people elsewhere in the name of a jihad? You think you are so different from those policemen who killed Biko? You think you are so different from the Christians who murdered during the Crusade? You think you are so different from those who flew those planes? You think you are so different from those who kept slaves on the plantations? Who burned people at stakes? You think you are better than a Hutu or a Tutsi? You think you are better than the priests leading Jesus to the cross?

You are not. You are no better. You are separated only by the degrees of action. You speak the same language. You spew the same hatred. You can cloak it in nice words. But so did Hitler. So did Pontius Pilot. So did PW Botha. So did Mao. So did Stalin. So did everyone who believed they were better than “the others”.

You are no better than those who killed and murdered. You are them. Separated by a small degree of heat. A small step. One action separates you. Just one. They are your brothers. Your keepers. In thought and prayer.

Don’t ever call me straight. I am not straight. I am me. Who I sleep with and who I love has nothing to do with you. It has nothing to do with my bad fashion sense. It has nothing to do with my anger. It has nothing to do with defining who I am inside.

I have no choice about who I am. I am because we are. I have no choice about being straight. I have no choice about being gay. I am just me. Like the color of my skin is not my choice. And my gender is not my choice. Or where I was born was not my choice. It is who I am. We should not be defined by these parts of who we are. We should be defined by our love and compassion for others and for ourselves.

Hell, if I had a choice I would not have chosen to be a pale heterosexual male. Except for the fact that it helped me find the love of my life it is nothing to be proud of. It is nothing special. In fact, I don’t like many of those who look like me. Hitler, Bush, Stalin, Verwoerd – all white males proclaiming to be straight. Too many bigots wear the same “clothes”.

I don’t ever want to be defined as heterosexual. I don’t. Because I am not. I am just a person who met another person and who loves. It could have been anyone. It just happened to be someone from the opposite gender. I didn’t make the choice to love her. It just happened.

That’s all I want the world to have. Just to feel the same love I feel. I don’t care who you are. Jew, Christian, gay, Muslim, straight, male, female, black, white, Chinese, Russian. I don’t care.

I. Don’t. Care.

All I want is “us” to all feel love. And see a better future together. As us. Not as “them” and “us”. There is only us in this world. All of us.

There is no such thing as a “gay issue”. Any injustice is my issue. Our injustice. Any limitation on freedom is a limitation of my freedom. Our freedom. Any inequality takes away my equality. Our equality. Any time the liberty of others are restricted then my liberty is restricted. Our liberty. Any place love is threatened my love is threatened. Our love. There can be no “others”. There can be no “gay issue”. There is only my issues. And our issues. We all have freedom, liberty, equality, justice, life, love and opportunity. Or I have none. I am not gay. But I am gay. 

I am the “gay issue”. We are the “gay issue”.

Because… I am because we are.

All of us. I am us. I am the “we”.

We will not fail each other. Because there is no gay issue. There is only an us issue.

 

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A few other posts of mine looking at the “gay issue”:

The “gay problem” or The Idiot’s Guide to Bigotry

The Gay Agenda

And one more thing

How to solve the “gay marriage problem”

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A friend of mine just passed me this link to something Keith Olbermann had to say on gay marriages. I missed it completely as I don’t watch enough telly. But it seems as if Keith and myself have more in common than what I thought. Go watch what he had to say. It is long. But it is worth it. His questions are very similar to mine. Just more eloquently put…

You know I have written quite a bit about gay rights. Actually, it still irritates the living hell out of me that I even have to talk about “gay rights”. As if it is a different set of rights than “normal” rights… Anyway, you might remember The Idiot’s Guide to Bigotry and The Gay Agenda. Or that time I wanted to say Just One More Thing… Actually, gay issues have been central to many posts over here. Present every time I talk about justice and equality.

Why? Why would a “straight” guy like me even bother? I am happily married to a woman. This isn’t my issue, right? Actually it is. It is core to who I am. I hate it when anyone is being oppressed or their rights limited and denied. I am “white” (wow, big surprize - shades of white in any case), but I hate racism. I am a man (really!), but I hate how women are being put down by society in general. My rights as a human being is in danger and threatened each and every time a fellow human being does not have their rights respected. I am discriminated against when they are discriminated against. Argh! I get pissed off when I have to write about this. This is so stupid. WTF? Wake up people! We are talking basic human rights here! You are threatening MY rights when you deny someone else their rights. Ubuntu, remember? I am because we are…

Anyway… I can feel another blog about this coming up damn soon. (The anger is starting to flow back.) But not today. Today I want to remind you about the battles in California and Florida this election. The battle for equal rights. I have no clue how a country that preaches liberty, freedom and equal rights can even have this kind of “voting”. Some things are not open to public opinion. Should you have a vote on whether woman should have the right to work? Or whether African Americans should be able to study? Or whether Latinos should be able to vote? Maybe your right to own property? Or to have kids? Or whether theft should be allowed? Should people be able to murder when they feel like it? No. And neither should the right of two people to marry be open to debate. Certain things are just stupid to debate. And this is one of them.

Remember, you don’t have to like it to accept it. I don’t like blatant racism being spewed out at meetings or in the public in general. But I know my rights are protected because their rights are protected. Hey, I don’t even have to like you but I can accept the fact that you have the same rights as me. Don’t like it… Just live with it…

Whether Americans truly believe in equality, freedom and liberty will be put to the test in California and Florida this election. Proposition 8 and Amendment 2 are both about what America stands for. Truly stands for. Not the issues. But whether America is true to its word… Freedom, equality and liberty for all. These two pieces of bigotry must be defeated. We have no choice. If these two pieces of crap wins it is not only a step backwards for America but will send a message to the world that discrimination is still okay. Kill Christians in India? No problem if that is who you hate. Blow up bombs in Israel? No problem if that is the group you want to target. Shoot fellow Muslims in Iraq? Hey, go ahead if that is how you feel. Jail rights activists in China? Make my day. Remember, discrimination is only one step away from persecution…

But we don’t always have to do it in anger. Sometimes we can poke a bit of fun at how stupid this is. And someone did! And they were so bloody good at it that the Boston Comedy Festival gave them the audience award. Yeah. Good old Boston. Always ahead of the pack – I had to rub that in a bit.

9in10dotorg made brilliantly funny and creative short comedies to show the stupidity of it all. They are helping to fight this bigotry. And to stop the California and Florida restrictions on rights be executed. But they did it in a very, very funny way. Go and have a look and share with other.

This one is in favor of gay marriages, but not for the reason you think. Damn funny!

And this one is against it. But look at the backdrop. Haha!

Like I said. We can make our anger be funny as well. You want some more gay-themed shorts? Go and have a look at their site. Some funny and some not. But everything to the point. Just click the pic…

The vote for justice is coming. There shouldn’t be a vote. But there is. Go out and show the world what America really stand for. Go and fight for the rights, equality, liberty and freedom for every American. Your choice. You either go back in time or you can go and make history. Your choice. Don’t do it for “them”. Do it for yourself. And your rights.

I can’t vote. But I wish I could. To protect my rights. And to protect those rights I would vote to give everyone else the same rights as me. To live with the one you love. In marriage.

Stand by your fellow Americans…  …in sickness and in health… …’til death do us apart…

This post was inspired by Monroe Anderson (I still can’t believe that he reads my blog. I am not worth the crossing of his t’s. He is the man.)

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The first shop I went to when we landed here in the US two years ago was a convenience store just down the road from us. It’s called Honey Farms. Just your run-of-the-mill convenience store like a 7-Eleven. Nothing much. Bread, milk, cigarettes, Coke and chocolates. Everything I need to get through the day if pushed. That’s where I met them. The people working at Honey Farms.

The first guy I met was this old guy that must been at least 65 in the shade. But still in excellent shape. He cycles to work and back. We just called him ‘the old guy’. My lovely wife knew who I was talking about whenever I told her I had a chat with the old guy at Honey Farms. He was the first American I had a just a normal general chat with. Good guy. Exceptionally good guy.

It started off like any normal chat for us foreigners over here in smaller towns. The accent. He loved my wife’s accent. Called it “the Queen’s English”. Well, she does have a pretty good English accent even though she is South African. He made her talk just so he could listen to her accent. And then he will just be like a little kid and be all giddy. And tell all the other customers to listen to her speak. Yes, I think he had a bit of a crush on her.

I didn’t get the same treatment. But then, my accent is a bit more harsh. Less exotic, more farmer. But what can you do? We did have many good chats – me and the old guy from Honey Farms. Anything really – and he was as funny as hell.

Whenever I bought my cigarettes he would offer me “free” matches. And he used to say that they are so committed to customer service that they are happy to replace the matches if I am unhappy with them at any time. Yes, they were free to start off with.

Or the time I walked in and asked if they had dish washing liquid or tablets for the dishwasher. He made a huge scene claiming that they have the best dishwasher liquid in the whole of downtown Natick - if not in greater downtown Natick. (You can’t buy or find it anywhere else in downtown Natick.) He went to tell me how good this dishwasher liquid is. His wife swears by it. And he has never had a customer come back to say it didn’t do the job. With a smile I asked him if he has ever used it. He shook his head and said no. Never used the stuff. He still washes his dishes by hand. And then laughed a bit more. Both of us.

Yeah, he was a funny guy. Always something funny to say or a smart comment to make me leave with a smile.

But it always bugged me. Why is he still working when he should be taking it easy? When he should be retired. So I asked him. I asked him why is he still working. And he stared at me for a little while. And then just uttered a simple little concept…

“healthcare…”

“Why healthcare”, I asked. Simple, he needs to be covered if something happens to him or his wife. Especially in their old age. And he needs the extra money to pay for it. As security for when they really need it. The government will help but it might not be enough. In his old age he has to worry about that. He never had to worry about it when he was covered when he was young and healthy and looked after.

He also told me that he got his daughter a job at Honey Farms. But that he had to make her stop working there and found her another job. He was worried about her safety. When she worked the late shift. When some of the rougher and drunker guys came around. Nothing ever happened. But it wasn’t good for her to be exposed. It was good enough for the old man, but not good enough for his daughter.

He left my Honey Farms a few months back. He got a better offer to actually run a Honey Farms in the town next to ours. We still walk into each other now and again. And we still have our chats then. He still makes me laugh. And he still cycles to work.

Actually, he is doing more than that. One of the many discussions we had was about American addiction to cars. Hell, people will drive 200 yards to Honey Farms to buy their stuff. But more than that, single drivers keep on driving to work and back or to downtown Natick on a beautiful day when they could be walking. It bugged him. And he decided to do something about it. A campaign. A campaign to get Natick people to cycle more.

This old man decided to do it on his own. He got a plan together that we spoke about a few times. And he took it to the local authorities to get their backing. And convinced them to support him. Not with money. But with communications – posters, notices, free bicycles etc. And off he went. His “cycle more” campaign. Good for traffic and good for your health. This old man that should be retired did it because it bugged him. Never made a cent out of it. It was all about getting people out of their cars and start cycling when they go to downtown Natick. Yep, he was an activist in his own way.

I really liked him. Still do.

He is America for me. Him and the other people I have met at Honey Farms. The other slightly less old guy who knows everything anybody ever wants to know about the history of coins – American coins. Or the gay middle aged woman who suffers from depression. Or the woman whose kids always come to visit her when she works the late shift on a weekend. Or the young black kid from the wrong side of Natick that is taking extra jobs to stay out of trouble and build himself a future. All of them. They have been America to me. Proud. Strong. Easy to talk to. Friendly as hell.

Yes, they might not know as much of the world as what the world knows of them, but these people are good decent people that I would be happy to call my own. I can see in their eyes why America is great. Because they are great people.

So why am I telling you this? Why is this even important? I’ll tell you why…

…McCain and taxes…

What?

Yep, McCain and taxes. McCain is attacking Obama for wanting to raise the taxes of the wealthiest of Americans. One key line of argument from McCain is that the top 1% of Americans will pay almost 35% of American taxes under the Obama plan. That just doesn’t sound right. That is just unfair. It isn’t just. Why should 1% pay so much of the taxes? Well… Because that same 1% also own almost 35% of America’s net worth. That’s why. Mr McCain.

If you own 35% then it makes perfect sense that 35% of the taxes will come from you. Easy economics. Not socialism. Just easy economics.

And before I forget. Just 10% of the population owns 71% of America’s wealth… I expect that 10% to pay 71% of the taxes…

I won’t even mention that “in a survey of 120 major cities, New York was found to be the ninth most unequal in the world and Atlanta, New Orleans, Washington, and Miami had similar inequality levels to those of Nairobi, Kenya and Abidjan, Ivory Coast. Many were above an internationally recognised acceptable “alert” line used to warn governments”. I won’t go into that. Just saying that the distribution of wealth in America is beyond unfair. It ranks with the most unjust systems in the world…

Tell me why should the wealthiest not pay according to the share of wealth they have? Are they better than the old guy from Honey Farms? Do they mean more to America than the Honey Farms people? I don’t think that either group means more to America than the other. Or at least, I don’t believe that either group should mean more to America. CEO’s can be replaced as easily as the guy in Honey Farms. Don’t let them tell you otherwise. I work with CEO’s of some of the biggest American companies out there today. The biggest of the biggest. The best of the best. Make no mistake… I can count on my one hand how many of them are truly irreplaceable. And they generally earn a sh*tload of money. Way more than their counterparts from the rest of the world.

I get it that they earn more. I have no problem there. Maybe I have a problem with the extremes of what they earn, but I do get that they should earn a nice package to keep them in the job. But they are not more American than the old guy from Honey Farms. That much I know.

He has worked his backside off for this country. Never moaned. Never bitched. Never complained. When they ask him to serve he serves. When they ask him to sacrifice he sacrifices. He, and everyone else at Honey Farms, are the backbone of this country as much as what the CEO is. Without him there is no America. America is not a country of CEO’s. America is a country of Americans. And everyone should pay their share of being able to call themselves American. The old guy paid his dues. Through sweat and taxes. Even today in his old age. He kept that CEO in his job. Buying his stuff and protecting his rights. The CEO can afford to pay more taxes so that the old guy doesn’t have to work in his old age. Or that the woman suffering from depression can get good help even though she can’t afford it. She works her butt off. Each and every day. She doesn’t sit back and do nothing. She contributes. She pays taxes. According to what she can. Her share. Even though her share of the American wealth is nothing compared to the CEO. We can’t expect him to let it “trickle down”. It won’t. It never has. It’s a fallacy that Reagan tried to sell and we now know it doesn’t work. Mr CEO doesn’t buy from Honey Farms.

One more thing… Patriotism.

Conservative Republicans keep on saying that the American companies will take their business elsewhere if they don’t get the “breaks”. Can we then please question the patriotism of these companies? Who are they? Let’s all stop buying from them if they hate America so much. They made their money off the back of American sweat and American consumers. And now they want to leave? They made their American Dream come true through the hard work and money of other Americans. They made their American Dream off the back and sweat and hard earned cash of those Americans who defines the true American Dream – freedom, justice and liberty without the money attached. Let’s leave them alone if they don’t show the same commitment to America as the old guy from Honey Farms.

I like my old guy from Honey Farms. I like everyone who works at Honey Farms. They taught me about America. Not the CEO and his buddies that I have known for many years. They are also Americans. But they are not America. It was Honey Farms that made me realize what America is all about. The spirit. The belief. The patriotism. The people.

I earn more than the guy at Honey Farms. Way more. I don’t earn $250,000 p.a. (Not yet!) But I am willing to pay a little more to make sure that the old guy from Honey Farms can just ride his bicycle and not worry about the cost of his healthcare. He is America and I am willing to do what it takes to make that work. I am willing to pay my share according to the share I own and earn. That should be the American way.

I don’t know where to start… Don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t need hugs right now. Or love. There is a disconnect that comes in waves. And the wave pulls you under. You are under water and can’t get out. No panic. Just don’t breathe. Hold your breath and wait for your body to catch up before you break through for some fresh air again. Beautiful fresh air. But right now you are under water. Just lie back and float under water for now. Don’t panic. Just wait…

Do you ever feel like this? What I call “The Heavy”. Where it just seems as if the world gets a little bit too heavy. It closes in on you. When you feel it is just a bit too much. I don’t mean the personal stuff. There is no heavy there. That is always good. Always good.

But the world. This fucked-up world we live in. It sometimes gets too heavy.

It’s been like that for a few weeks now. Sometimes heavier than others. It’s like you are in this noise bubble. Your brain overloaded with so much bad news and visuals that you just can’t make out anything anymore. Like someone switched the lights off inside you but you are still awake – just not sure what is going on and can’t see much of what is inside. Like you’ve gone 12 rounds with Mike Tyson. Just tired. Just tired. And battered. This fucked-up world of ours.

There are kids dying out there. Of hunger. Of wars. Because the water they drink is bad for them. For no reason but for being born in the wrong place, in the wrong time. It’s too much. I can’t handle it.

I am not strong enough for this. God knows why Ubuntu is in me. It shouldn’t. I am not strong enough for it. I admire people who can work in the field every single day and see it happen. My friend Vasco Pyjama does it every day. Every single day. Somalia. God knows how she does it. She is stronger than me. I love her and Toaf for being able to do that. I am too weak to do it. I am paralyzed when I just think of it.

I never know how long it will take for me to get up again. Just too many faces. Just too many voices right now. Too much to do.

It’s just too much. I wish I could just walk away. Just for a little bit. Just not care for a few days. Just see the sun and smiling faces around me. Without it reminding me of those kids. And the people suffering. Just a few days please.

That’s the problem with this goddamn Ubuntu. It won’t leave you. Because it is you. Goddamn Ubuntu.

Most of the time Ubuntu makes me see the good and the bad. It makes me smell the flowers. It makes me smile inside when I see my little girls laugh and play. It makes me stare at the leaves on the trees changing colors in fall up here in New England. Ubuntu gives me time to appreciate the beauty that’s around me. But it also creeps up and punches me in the stomach. Reminds me that all is not well out there. And “The Heavy” sets in. Like dark clouds moving in. The other side of Ubuntu. Most of the time it is in balance. But sometimes it’s like this. “The Heavy”.

It’s like I am waiting for something. Waiting for the change to happen. For the world to wake up and go “Oh yeah, I forgot about the other people. Let’s sort that out quickly.” Waiting for the world to change. And make this suffering history.

But I know it is not going to happen. It’s not. People will die for no reason. And they will continue to die. No matter how hard I try. No matter what I do. It will always be there. The “others”. The waiting is for a bus that will never come. And it sometimes it gets too much. This waiting. This working. This treading water.

I want to walk away. Just throw my hands up and say, “Fuck that. It’s too much. You go sort it out. Just leave me out of it.” It’s not my fight anymore.

Why do this? I can’t change a thing. It is too big for me. I don’t want to do it. But I know I don’t have a choice. I can sit here and feel “The Heavy”. But in the end… In the end it doesn’t help. It doesn’t do anything. It doesn’t change anything. It’s just me feeling shit. Feeling overwhelmed. I am not feeling sorry for myself. Just drained, tired, overloaded and helpless. But it’s not easy to shake.

The problem is that it is my fight. I don’t want it. But I don’t have a choice. I can’t walk away. Even if I want to walk away. They don’t have a choice. They can’t take a breather. They can’t stop fighting. They live it each and every single bloody day.

I don’t even know where it is. The Heavy. Is it in my blood? Is it on my skin? Where the hell does it come from? If I can find it I’ll cut it out.

Tomorrow is another day. And I am waiting for that day. I am waiting for that day when I will get up and not feel tired. Or drained. Or overloaded. Not feel “The Heavy”. The day I’ll take a deep breath and stare at the world and say, “Fuck you. You will not win. There are more of us than what you think. We will win. You know why? Because we don’t have a choice.” Maybe not in my lifetime. Maybe never. But it’s worth it. Because when “The Heavy” lifts the world is a better place. A place where we fight. And laugh at the fight we are putting up. Where we shout, “Come on! Is that all you’ve got? Bring it on!”

Just not now. I am in between rounds. Taking a breather. Staring at Mike and looking for where I am going to tackle him next. Where I am going to hurt him. I’ll fight dirty when the bell rings and “The Heavy” lifts. I’ll be scrappy. I’ll bob-and-weave for equality. And jab righteousness. I’ll bite the ear of bigotry and hypocracy with the mouth justice. I’ll kick poverty and injustice in the nuts. And I’ll bring hell with me.

Just not now. Just now. In a little while. I need “The Heavy” to lift. It’ll come. It’s just reminding me that this job isn’t easy. That I should never underestimate it. That Mike is one tough bastard. And there is no end in sight. We’re in this for the long run. It gets me down. And then it will get me pissed off. And then I will fight again. Like I have never fought before.

I get like this sometimes. Do you? Do you feel that it is sometimes too much? Too much to handle? That you want to walk away. Like you have lead in your shoes. Not enough air. Too much going on and too much for you to do. Too many leaks in the wall. A heavy weight on your shoulders dragging you down. That you feel tired to your bones. Drained of all energy. Like you are treading water. Overloaded with faces. Noises of voices filling your head. 

Do you ever feel “The Heavy”?

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