On Systemic Suffering
A week has passed since America saw its most divisive, vitriolic, rhetoric-infused election in modern memory. My generation saw the promises and hope brought by a charismatic young President of color overwhelmingly silenced by the angry masses of (overwhelmingly) white voters from a continuous stretch of our country gathered and participating from Arizona to Pennsylvania. The news of hate crimes, the images of protestors lighting up the streets, and the inevitable reaction by armor-clad militarized police forces filled my screens as I watched our nation react. Friends and family shared their terror, their fear, their anger, their grief. I saw everything from escapism (Bible verses and an injunction to trust in God) to scapegoating. I had to quit my presence on social media. As for me, I sat, stunned, shocked, and angry. But, as I assessed my emotions in the aftermath, facing the prospect of a Presidency presided over by a racist, xenophobic, misogynistic bully named Donald J. Tru