Arc

Image credit: Graphic by Renee Johnston for Public Square Amplified

The arc of the moral universe bends

It doesn't bend on its own

It has, historically, only been bent by the weight of Black and brown bodies

Bent by the weight of their whole lives on their backs as our Indigenous Ancestors were death marched off their land

Bent by the weight of Black people, enslaved and “free,” hung from trees

Bent by the weight of Black men and women, spilling their blood onto the Edmund Pettus bridge

Bent by the weight of Iraqi children bombed – because if we must accept Black people's humanity we can still deny the humanity of Arabs and Muslims

Bent by the weight of sobbing children, separated from their parents at the border, at school drop off, at the doctor’s office, or at church – by unidentified men, cosplaying as soldiers, but too embarrassed to show their face, as to learn what their own children think of them

Bent by the weight of Queer children, bullied, at school and at home, until they couldn’t stand living anymore

Bent by the weight of unhoused children’s entire lives callously discarded into the back of garbage trucks

Bent by the weight of Palestinian children, or pieces thereof, hanging from their bombed out homes.

Who are we, no WHAT are we, to treat children this way?

Baldwin said “the children are always ours, EVERY single one of them” 

We’re failing our children

That child that needs help could be the next Baldwin, the next Einstein, the next Coates

Or they could just be yet another kid in a sea of millions, completely average and indistinguishable

It doesn’t matter

Maybe they need someone to buy them the snack they didn’t bring enough money for

Maybe they need a house that’s safe when theirs isn’t

Maybe they need a smile, someone to hold the door, or someone to listen

Maybe they need to see themselves in me, see that there is a path for them

The arc of the moral universe may bend toward justice, but in the moment, in THIS moment, as it creaks, groans, and strains, you are implored to look away

Because the arc rests on white supremacy, hate, and the incredible power of the other

Don’t think, don’t feel, don’t worry, don’t look behind the curtain, just look away

The arc may bend toward justice, but whose justice, and just FOR who?

Who is deserving of humanity, and who can be overlooked, nay erased?

It’s not easy to bend the arc, not because it’s heavy, but because it’s slippery, coated in blood drawn by whiteness, tears shed in anguish, never joy

But as Amanda Gorman said “the norms and notions of what just is, isn’t always justice”

So what is justice, and what will you do to keep it from being “just is?”