What more is there to say?
Before entering walmart, I drive around a little trying to get a feel for this town. Neither my cell or text nor my mobile data works, leaving me without wifi unless I find a connection somewhere. I might have to resign myself to walmart tonite....grrrrr
I pick up another tail so I decide I better cut my exploring short - not that there's much here to explore, it becomes country very quickly - and head to walmart. When I park, another car pulls in right next to me.
Another womon and man jumps out their vehicle to rush over and give me joyous hugs. I realize after my previous conversation, I was prepared for some white rage but these are but two more Native people standing with me, united by my fiery messages against violence, against racism, against hatred.
Brenda is shorter than me but younger. This time I do understand when she declares she's Micmac as is her husband. She refers to a 'base' where they live and, at my ignorant stare, explains that it was previously Loring Air Force Base that is now housing for her people. I ask if it was built after WWII and she nods, 1947. I sigh, remembering when I first fled my husband, I landed for a brief moment in what were the projects - military housing thrown up quickly at the end of the war: small, flimsy structures that were condemned to be bulldozed until someone decided it was a good place to house the poor.
I ask her how folks are fairing these days, under this fascist regime and she looks deep into my eyes and asks if I really think there's been a difference. "We've always struggled. Womyn have always been disappeared. Potato farmers have always been destroying our land. What more is there to say?"
I nod, knowing how I want to prostrate myself weeping before every Native person, every Black person, every person of color, wanting to say something to acknowledge the vicious violence they have suffered and continue suffering by the hands and weapons of people who look like me, white people, to let people of color know I see them, I know what has been/is being done, I'm against what has been/is being done, and I will put my body between them and harm whenever I am able.
She beams at me, our eyes glistening, and thanks me for being the one to say more. We hug without me saying anything else, sharing our connection.
I pick up another tail so I decide I better cut my exploring short - not that there's much here to explore, it becomes country very quickly - and head to walmart. When I park, another car pulls in right next to me.
Another womon and man jumps out their vehicle to rush over and give me joyous hugs. I realize after my previous conversation, I was prepared for some white rage but these are but two more Native people standing with me, united by my fiery messages against violence, against racism, against hatred.
Brenda is shorter than me but younger. This time I do understand when she declares she's Micmac as is her husband. She refers to a 'base' where they live and, at my ignorant stare, explains that it was previously Loring Air Force Base that is now housing for her people. I ask if it was built after WWII and she nods, 1947. I sigh, remembering when I first fled my husband, I landed for a brief moment in what were the projects - military housing thrown up quickly at the end of the war: small, flimsy structures that were condemned to be bulldozed until someone decided it was a good place to house the poor.
I ask her how folks are fairing these days, under this fascist regime and she looks deep into my eyes and asks if I really think there's been a difference. "We've always struggled. Womyn have always been disappeared. Potato farmers have always been destroying our land. What more is there to say?"
I nod, knowing how I want to prostrate myself weeping before every Native person, every Black person, every person of color, wanting to say something to acknowledge the vicious violence they have suffered and continue suffering by the hands and weapons of people who look like me, white people, to let people of color know I see them, I know what has been/is being done, I'm against what has been/is being done, and I will put my body between them and harm whenever I am able.
She beams at me, our eyes glistening, and thanks me for being the one to say more. We hug without me saying anything else, sharing our connection.
posted by Xan @ 8:22 PM
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