I’m
sick at heart today. I just read about the synagogue shooting near
San Diego. The story woke dark memories of the Pittsburgh synagogue
attacks exactly six months ago, last month’s horrific massacre at
Christchurch’s mosques, the Easter church bombings in Sri Lanka...
the list of hate crimes targeting people because of their religion
gets longer all the time.
Honestly,
I cannot fathom how someone could perpetrate such horrors. I simply
can’t imagine the mental state required to coldly murder one’s
fellow human beings just because their spiritual beliefs and
traditions happen to be different from your own. Indeed, it seems
bizarre to consider that the individuals responsible for these crimes
could have any sort of belief in a higher power at all.
What
can we do about the explosion in hate crimes? Of course, there are
practical actions that can be undertaken, like working to ban assault
weapons or increasing security at places of worship. But preventing
this sort of violence requires a deeper transformation. Only a change
in values can reduce the hate –recognizing our shared humanity and
the fostering of a sense of inclusion and safety for everyone.
Education and advocacy – standing witness and choosing peaceful
conflict resolution over violent confrontation – providing role
models for peace and fostering inter-group dialogue – these are
the only long term strategies that can have an effect. To prevent
hate crimes you must somehow heal the haters.
Hence,
for today’s Charity Sunday I’m focusing on the American FriendsService Committee (AFSC), an organization that has been working for
peace, justice, human rights and human dignity for more than 100
years. AFSC campaigns in a holistic way, at the level of individual
communities as well as at the national level, to fight
discrimination, uphold human rights, and foster peace.
Leave
me a comment and let me know your thoughts about how to heal the
hate. For each comment, I will donate one dollar to AFSC. Also, I
will give a free ebook copy of my dystopian multicultural romance
Divided We Fall to each commenter. Just include your
email address if you want the book.
I’ve
got an excerpt from the book below.
I
don’t want to be here. I’ve got no confidence my truce flag will
buy me any kind of safety. But what can I do? My little brother’s
disappeared, last seen headed toward the black ghetto. We searched
every corner of Viet Village. Unless he’s deliberately hiding―not
likely given his age and his usual good behavior― he must have
wandered outside the bounds.
The
many kinds of harm he might meet scroll through my mind like credits
for some old movie. I force myself to slow down as I approach the
West Century intersection, the only un-mined street leading east into
Niggertown. Gripping my flag in one hand, I raise the other high to
show I’m unarmed. It’s true, aside from the switchblade hidden my
boot. I don’t step out of the abandoned grocery my family calls
home without that knife. When I sleep, it hangs from cord around my
neck, nestled between my breasts. Older Brother calls me Blade-Heart.
He thinks it’s a joke, but his nickname suits me. I might ask Uncle
Pham to tattoo it on my bicep.
“Freeze,
bitch.”
I’m
expecting the challenge, but still, my stomach does a queasy flip. I
remain motionless, as instructed, keeping both hands visible. A tall,
lean figure steps out from behind some pollution-rusted shrubbery in
front of a ruined apartment building. He carries his Kalashnikov like
it’s another limb, one which he points directly at me. Funny how
there’s never enough food, but no problem getting guns.
“What
you doin’ here? This ain’t your territory. You get your gook ass
back ‘cross the street before I kick it back!”
Though
the guard talks tough, I can see he’s young, maybe younger than I
am. He fixes me with a belligerent glare and brandishes his weapon
like he’d just as soon shoot me as not, but there’s a softness to
his mouth that lets me imagine him smiling. Using his left hand to
draw an ugly blade from his belt, he strides in my direction.
He
wears threadbare jeans and a faded camouflage shirt, open to the
waist. The inky skin on his bare chest gleams with sweat, despite the
brisk wind. The paler flesh of a scar slashes across his chest, just
above his left nipple. That must have been a dire wound, close to
fatal. He might be young, but he’s no stranger to battle. None of
us is, these days.
“You
hear me, bitch?” he growls and jabs at me with his knife.
Instinct
taking over, I shrink backward, then recover. He mustn’t think I’m
afraid. Straightening my spine, I raise my flag a bit higher.
“I
claim the right of truce.” I make my voice low, even, and
respectful. But not subservient. “I’m looking for my three-year
old brother. He wandered out of our territory earlier today. Someone
said he might be in Niggertown.”
“You
better hope he’s not.” The guard gives me an evil grin. “Me and
my boys just love a bit of barbecue.”
I
ignore his jibe. He’s just trying to pull my chain. I hope. “Can
I have a look around? Please?”
“Any
gooks enterin’ Niggertown got to pay the toll.” His leer widens,
his white teeth a shocking contrast to his soot-dark complexion.
“Of
course.” I’d expected something like this. I jerk my thumb
toward my backpack. “May I...? I’ve
got veggies, from my mother’s garden. Cucumbers, green beans and
kale. Chilies, too.” Money wasn’t much use in the barrios. Fresh
vegetables, though—they were hard to come by, and I’d heard the
soil in Niggertown was even more contaminated than ours.
He
steps closer, until he’s looming over me. The point of his knife
grazes my throat. Unflinching, I meet his eyes, brown as the muddy
water of the Mekong in Mother’s old photos. His blade travels down
my chest, pausing between my breasts. “I want something hot,” he
murmurs. “But it ain’t chilies.”
“You
think you’ll rape me?” Amazed at my own daring, I grasp his
wrist and drag it to one side, until the blade’s a safe distance
from my flesh. He doesn’t resist. Dropping his hand, I give the
little kick I’ve practiced so many times and flip the switchblade
into my hand, already open. “I’ll kill you first, boy.”
“Don’t
you call me that, bitch!” I’m ready for him to hit me—I expect
the toll to include some blood—but he holds back. “Anyway, I
wouldn’t rape your skinny yellow ass. Nah, I’m gonna wait till
you beg for it!”
I
burst into laughter. I just can’t help it. “Right. That’ll
happen the same day the pigs lay off the barrios and the Tower
collapses.”
He
tries to look fierce, but he can’t quite pull it off. “Just you
wait,” he warns. “You gonna be on your knees. Beggin’ for me to
put my big thing between your legs. An’ me, I’m just gonna leave
you there!”
“Okay,
okay. If you say so. Now can I come in and look for Little Brother?”
Remembering
his responsibilities, he gestures with his rifle. “Gimme the blade,
girl, and show me the veggies.”
Snapping
the knife shut, I drop it back into my boot. “Nobody touches my
blade. But you can get the vegetables yourself, if you want.”
I
turn, offering him access to the pack, a gesture of trust that I hope
isn’t misplaced. He could easily throttle me, or simply shoot me in
the back. I’ve got to move this forward, though. Every minute I
delay increases my brother’s danger.
“What
if you got a bomb inside?” He’s no fool. That would be my first
thought, too.
“That
would be pretty stupid, wouldn’t it? What would I gain from blowing
us both up?” I face him once again. “Want me to open it, then?
“Dunno.
Could be you got a gun or something.” He scans the broad, vacant
street. The wind rattles the trash piled in the gutters. “Maybe
there’s more of you gooks out there, waitin’.”
His
caution is rational, but my concern for Little Brother makes me
impatient. “Look—what if l give you the pack. You can put
it somewhere safe for now. Open it when I’m gone. Just let me
inside so I can look for Duy.”
His
eyes widen. It’s a fine bag, made of some tough, waterproof fabric
you can’t get anymore—not since all the trade was shut down.
Worth many times the value of its contents. I’ll miss it, but it’s
nothing compared to Duy’s life.
* * *
Please
leave me a comment, with your email. I’d love to share this book
with you. And every comment helps build a bit more peace.
