Stay Angry

I'm obsessed with Trayvon Martin.

I don't understand why everyone isn't obsessed with Trayvon Martin.

This is so fucking fucked up.

I thought maybe, after a day or two, my rage might die down a little. But instead it's increased. And I'm glad of that.

We should all be absolutely furious. We should all be shouting our fury from the goddamn rooftops.

I'm glad of the white-hot anger that burns in me. Anger at Trayvon Martin's murderer, who gunned down a 17-year-old boy for the crime of being black. Anger at the entrenched systemic racism that has thus far kept the murderer from coming to justice. Anger at the entrenched systemic racism that made this murder possible in the first place. Anger at the people making excuses for this travesty of justice, and at the people standing by in silence, and at the people who participate, directly or indirectly, in the systems that perpetuate injustice. Anger at myself.

A common conservative argument against postmodernism is that it leads to moral relativism. Funnily enough, the more deeply I delve into postmodernism – as I deconstruct everything, including myself, to the point that I don't know which way is up any more; as my theology grows ever more convoluted, abstract, and self-contradictory; as I despair of ever finding any meaning in the text other than my own projections – in all this mess, my sense of right and wrong has never been clearer.

This is fucking fucked up.

God, keep us angry. It's all we have.