The Essence of the Movement

They’re there, in the corners of our eyes. You can see them clearly if you don’t look too close, if you allow them to linger in your peripheral. This is one method of seeing them. 

But lately, they have made themselves known. 

Spirits feel emotions, just like me, just like you. The overwhelming emotion amongst the spirits lately being the most powerful of all: wrath. 

In a similar manner to dogs knowing the emotion of their master despite not understanding the sounds coming from their mouths, spirits can feel energy, and they produce energy, too. 

These spirits have been part of this earth long before the white race decided it was superior and acted upon those dark impulses, long before they brought their plagues, their slavery, their prisons, their neo-liberalism. 

The spirits have always been in the background. Waiting. Reacting, sometimes. 

I first caught a glimpse of the spirits when their wrath became too much for their plane of existence to contain, spilling over into ours after a boy’s Skittles and Iced Tea spilled onto the floor, pooled onto the floor, but it wasn’t just tea, it was stickier and more carmine. 

The spirits were furious. 

They filled the hearts and minds and souls of everyone they could touch, filling their mouths with chants and guiding their legs to march. This anger burned for weeks and weeks, but like any good flame, it eventually relented. 

But like any good flame, it came back. 

It came back when cigarettes were allegedly stolen, it came back when a toy gun was played with, it came back when a cell phone was reached for, it came back when music was a bit too loud, it came back when CDs were sold, it came back over a traffic ticket, it came back for sitting quietly at home, it came back for jogging, and it came back for being trans. 

And now, it’s come back once more. 

The ire that has manifested itself again and again, that resides in the soil under our feet and the air in our lungs, this wrath has returned to the hearts and minds and souls of the people once again. 

We are accustomed to our visitor by now. 

I see, live, and breathe these spirits, but my white counterparts do not. Some of them try, and by God, do they try, but they stare straight into the fire and are shocked when their eyes become burned. 

I wish I could tell them how to see, how to really see, these spirits. How to understand them, embrace them, allow them to take the helm because they have done this dance countless times. I wish I could express to them how important it is that they acknowledge these spirits, that they heed their warnings and do their biddings. I wish I could make black magic matter to them. 

And yet. 

At the same time, I wish this burden off of me. I wish it off of the shoulders of those who look like me. We do not want to be consumed with such wrath, we do not choose to ignite these fires, but we are not being listened to when it comes to extinguishing them properly. 

So they keep coming back. 

Sometimes, all I am able to see are these angry, rageful spirits. My vision blurs and I see red, no matter which way I look or how many times I blink. 

They are angry. We are angry. I am angry. 

As fires continue to be ignited all over this land, as glass continues to shatter onto the soil, as chemical gas continues to fill civilian lungs. 

I urge you, too, to become angry and see.