There’s no such thing as safety in America
cw: mentions of gun violence
I write this to you from the bedroom that I almost didn’t leave last week, for paralyzing fear I would be shot outside my home or in the grocery store or at the nail salon. For debilitating sadness thinking about families torn, children broken, grandmothers slammed to the ground.
There is no more sugar to coat, America feels like hard candy cracking on weak tooth and — forget the sour taste — there is blood on our gums and in our hands. Grandmothers are being slammed into the ground. Say it again, grandmothers are being slammed to the ground. Grandmother is on the ground. Teeth are falling out, blood is drying out, time is running out. Say it again, I’m afraid to go outside. Say it again, I’m afraid to go outside. Say it again, I’m afraid to go outside.
There is no such thing as safety in America. No such thing as safety in America. Safety is an empty promise in America. There are disproportionate impacts — certainly and unforgivably — but don’t be remiss to think there is anybody safe in America, there is no one who is safe in America, all glass boxes will shatter and shards will slice even the softest and youngest of feet.
I’m afraid to be a woman at night, to be Asian at the supermarket, to be anyone at a parade. I’m afraid to go to school, I’m afraid to be alone, I’m afraid to live in my body because there is nowhere I can take it that is safe.
Christine walked home and died in her apartment. Michelle went to work and died on the subway. Katie went to the parade and died on the sidewalk.
All of us left with them because we read those words and didn’t even flinch.
Christine walked home and died in her apartment. Michelle went to work and died on the subway. Katie went to the parade and died on the sidewalk.
None of us left with them because we were lucky enough to stay. We were lucky because the odds these things happen are statistically low, but sadistically cruel because one should have been too many. One should have been too many. We don’t care about each other in America, we care about guns and money, and each death will get one degree closer until it’s too late. It could be mom tomorrow, it could be me tomorrow, it will happen again tomorrow. There is no such thing as safety in America, and I think about this every time I leave the house which means that lately, I hide in my room which means the world has gotten smaller because the stakes have gotten bigger and there is no such thing as safety here nor there because I live in a pool of fear which makes me a danger to myself. You have to live, your loved ones will tell you, but there is nothing left to say except I am afraid to go outside.
Dad has a hard time telling me he has hope when we sit down at the dinner table. Dad knows people love their power too much, hide from their pain too much, dad knows it’s getting late, dad doesn’t want to look me in the eyes because we both know there is no going back. The guns are in the hands, the guns are in the closets, the guns are in the schools. Dad knows that I’m scared and dad knows there’s nothing he can do about it.
Christine walked home and died in her apartment. Michelle went to work and died on the subway. Katie went to the parade and died on the sidewalk.
We cried for a few minutes, we shared infographics on the internet, we lost loved ones and let the world keep tumbling.
We do it every day and I won’t believe you if you tell me it will stop. I can’t believe you if you tell me it will stop. Please tell me it will stop.
Question to ask your mom:
What gives you hope these days?
