ferguson america

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America, or that land in which I live, has its own set of issues gone to seed, fertile realm for planting the same old ideas in the minds of the innocent. Reminders find us on occasion, and so they did again, knocking me on my ample keister, where I’ve pondered and I’ve ranted, decrying what we should have excised fifty years ago.

Racism is here again, amplified by the internet, a tool of wondrous indifference used by those of good and bad intent. You all have seen the stories from Ferguson, of Michael Brown and his murder, of the outrage expressed by the community. It is a personal issue and it is a national one.

We’ve never dealt with it in a mature, effective way. No community should be two thirds black and be ruled by a police force twelve thirteenths white.

There are plenty of side issues, including police militarisation and the tendency for the good officers to look the other way when the few bad ones act abhorrently. But for me, beyond the immediacy and necessariness of justice for Michael, we Americans must finally grow up.

Skin colour is a false relevancy for stupid minds. It tells one nothing about the character and ability of a person, but too many like to think it does. These louts have plagued our nation from its first colonisation, and somehow, they managed to create a lineage, depositing their bigotry at the front end of the twenty-first century.

Will we remain so superficial in our judgements and so hateful in our actions? I’m getting old, and I thought we licked this when I was young.

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