But they are not.
It is a rainy night, much like the rainy night when George Zimmerman murdered 17-year old Trayvon Martin with impunity.
All is quiet
At least at this moment. Social media flares up disgust. Outrage. But somehow the killing of a black teen is not outrageous enough to let out a thundering roar to deafen us all. Instead, I hear prayers for peace.
That’s good, right?
Prayers. Peace. Those are good things. They reflect loving values and are the cornerstones of life and faith.
But…
The streets should run with blood.
That phrase, one I have never uttered a day in my life, keeps lurching up from some primal place in the core of my being.
I live in a state that keeps letting criminals go free. The excuse is always the same: the letter of the law trumps the law itself. A state congress’ words inked deep in documents trump the commandments Moses carved in stone.
Thou Shalt Not Kill.
I recall Casey Anthony who killed her baby, lied, partied, and went free. A juror stated that she felt sick in the stomach voting not guilty, but… the letter of the law was more important that her conscience, intuition, and what she knew was the truth.
I recall a father of young children being struck and killed on his bicycle by a wealthy party boy who left the scene to cover up his drug use. The prosecuters asked for the minimum and the judge went lower than that. A year, I think? Since then I can think of at least five hit and runs in Miami. Unsolved. Unresolved.
The thing is: all the smart, good people agree: this is wrong. This is outright injustice. We are embarrassed, ashamed, livid, and revolted.
But in terms of creating any meaningful change, we are largely quiet.
We feel helpless. After all, with double jeopardy, what can we do?
But I wonder:
How many steps are there between disillusionment and passive acceptance?
Tacit acceptance.
Prayers for peace are good, but we seem a bit too quick to move beyond this moment of extreme injustice.
Let’s not forget this is another example of gun violence against children. We haven’t yet accounted for the lives of the first-graders in Connecticut or this teenager in Florida. These children’s lives are not talking points or reasons to sigh and helplessly hang our heads.
They were real and now they are dead.
Their absence on Earth is profound.
We need to sit in that reality.
We need to sit in their blood until we can no longer sit down. Until we take to the streets with a fierce, primal call that demands change. Commands change.
The streets should run with blood.
This does not mean we should kill each other. This does not mean we should loot or vandalize. No, this is much too important for that nonsense. This is not time to divide; it is time to unite, because the sad truth is:
the streets are already running with the blood of our children,
while we stand by, wringing our hands.
We don’t know what to do. Well, nothing isn’t working.
And the flood is coming.
The flood of is coming.
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