since the massacre in orlando, i’ve been thinking about disaster capitalism and the erasure of qtpoc communities, even in death. it’s almost difficult to manage my feelings because so much of the public mourning has been really performative and harmful.
Indeed some of us did not die.
Some of you, some of us remain, despite that hatred that violence that murder that suicide that affront to our notions of civilized days and nights.
And what shall we do, we who did not die?
What shall we do now? How shall we grieve, and cry out loud, and face down despair? Is there an honorable non-violent means towards mourning and remembering who and what we loved?
Is there an honorable means to pursue and capture the perpetrators of that atrocity without ourselves becoming terrorists?
I don’t know the answer to that.
I’ve noticed more interracial couples with black women here in London than I’ve seen in the few cities I’ve lived in in the U.S. It also seems that there are more black people with natural hair than there were when I first came to visit London in 2011.
In other news, I have some thoughts about home, particularly the making of “home,” roaming in my head. I’m having trouble putting the thoughts into words though, but will share once I can.