They are not talking to me now. Because I questioned their understanding of just who their enemies are. Fox Media had convinced them there was a caravan of terrorists walking – walking – to the U. S. border from various South American countries. I said that was not true. They dismissed me as a Pollyanna. Fox Media told them that the Syrian refugees were harboring terrorists. That was not true, yet they insisted I be afraid. Cleared out the table with my stubborn insistence that my friends were misinformed. And all these months later, when none of their fears materialized, they are trying to convince me that Black Lives Matter protests are violent. They keep picking the wrong enemies. Migrant workers, no. Asylum seekers, no. Peaceful protestors, no. I disagreed when they lashed out against Colin Kaepernick, my San Francisco friends, fellow fans of the 49ers. How dare he take a knee to protest police brutality, in this country, against black people. It’s football, not politics. Where else can he be heard? Corporate greed and corrupt governments took your 401k, these “titans of industry” stole your pension plans. Certainly not any immigrants. These purveyors of propaganda are the ones who lead you to hate those of less privilege. Watch what they do, my mom used to say, not what they say. But these days, the things they say are horrible. They used to be my friends, they sat at my table, I even love them. But I cannot condone their willful ignorance. We donate to candidates set to unseat the haters. I chat-sult internet trolls. Now is the time. The world sees us, and the world protests.
Published by Ms. C. G. Tripp
The new business cards have arrived and with the speed of virtual press, I am self-titled: Catherine G. Tripp, Writer/Investor. Left brain and right brain have battled for dominance all of my life. I wrote the marketing materials for my mortgage brokerage, had a personal finance column at Examiner.com, wrote essays, short stories and poems published in school papers and magazines then literary journals. If my writings were a color, they would be yellow, bright as sunlight, highlighting the salient portions, not obscuring the past but deconstructing air brushed stories, finding humor and courage in the unloved corners. View more posts