If you stick a knife in my back nine inches and pull it out six inches, there’s no progress. If you pull it all the way out that’s not progress. Progress is healing the wound that the blow made. And they haven’t even pulled the knife out much less heal the wound. They won’t even… Continue reading A Knife in My Back
[This story is adapted from an essay I wrote back in August 2016. It was written a month after the shootings of Alton Sterling, Philando Castile, and five police officers in Dallas. This narrative is about a real conversation with a friend. For discretionary purposes, I won’t use her real name.] A text notification appeared on… Continue reading “Suspicious Humans”: A Discouraging Convo with a Friend about Race
Black Spasmodic 