"When you hate, the only person who suffers is you, because most of the people you hate don't know it and the others don't care."- Medgar Evers
Assassinated Civil Rights Leader
This post is very important to me in that I'm hoping it'll glean a bit more insight into who I am and why I use my voice in this blog the way I do on occaision. I get a good bit of positive feedback from a wide spectrum of people, and in many ways that encourages me to continue writing on subjects and issues important to me in the hope of bringing awareness. It comes out in various ways, often in the form of anger and sarcasm - but that's only methodology and not what's driving me from within. What drives me in my activism against racism, sexual & domestic abuse, homophobia, inequality, fundamentalism, all kinds of things is a wealth of life experience in things I've seen, been a victim or survivor of, or taken part in - in one respect or another. The story you're about to read is a first hand account of how politics and racism came to have a huge impact on my worldview. It will infuriate you if you have a conscience and it will break your heart if you have one to break. I tell it now because I want people to know that the fire in me to use my voice is NOT just mindless idealistic bitching, it is meant to grab people and shake them by the shoulders until they stop being innocent bystanders and start paying attention.
At the end of the 1970's, just as I was coming of age, two very significant things happened that gave birth to my future as an activist. In one chaotic evening I lost two precious things - a huge chunk of my innocence; and the other, one of my best friends and playmates.
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