We are fast approaching a time when opinions no longer matter. When the voices of the triumphant do rise over the fallen, but in jaunt paltry volumes, taut shades. These opinions; specifically those of the far right, the ones who claim their righteousness as though they’ve a pocket full of righteousness vouchers. For shame on you, creating division, mining hatred. You are what’s wrong with this country, they say from their horses on high, their white skin glistening in the foggy Sun. Fast approaching, we are, a time in which such opinions take on the consistency of tofu, while the brothers and sisters of the oppressed die in the streets, in the gorges, in the lowlands where the snow floods at spring time, in their homes; while the brothers and sisters of the oppressed suffer the agony of tyranny, the ever-impending sound of death come knocking; while the brothers and sisters of the oppressed discuss matters of revolution in both hushed and explicit tones; while the wealthy sip jasmine tea from decks made of oak, over seas that one day will take us all; while the wealthy wag their fingers like dog tails, insistently, happily, for theirs is the star that shines brightest in the noon sky; while men and women assemble, gather, and march; while men and women, the gender queer and the gender fluid, the agender, and the bigender, the omnigender and the pangender scream the names of their fallen ancestors; the Sylvias, the Marsha P’s, the Miss Majors; while bullets made of rubber rain down upon them; and they call them less-than-lethal; while the fire hoses paid for by Koch, paid for by Bank of America, paid for by Citi, spray at pressures too great even for flames; while tear gas obscures the strangled masses; while laughter rings from the hallways of the oligarchs; while the Good Newspapers—the ones with integrity—fall into ill-repute, collapse under the weight of their own bias; and the people suckle at the opium teets; the iPhone, the Instagram, the Snapchat, the Netflix; while suddenly and without warning they become sheep grazing in desolate pastures; and the shepherds, the herdsmen, wrangle and joke; while the wolves lie crouched in wait at the tree line; while the birds tweet in gaunt whispers; while the wind doth not stir. We are fast approaching a time when opinions no longer matter; when fingers are pointed with regularity; and dismissal becomes the law of the land; where ignorance breeds fear breeds destruction; where all that we have built comes crashing upon us; and the mighty find themselves fallen, lest they’ve a pretty penny; and the ones with all the capital have gone from CEOs to Slave Masters; where Nazis walk casually in the streets, and fascism makes a second sweep of the Earth; where lynching, state-sanctioned violence, white supremacy have become acceptable again, even popular; where those who pray for genocide are able to rebrand themselves as the Alt-Right; and those more complacent Republicans look upon all the carnage, unable to understand what they have wrought, and breathe their opinions upon the world like hot, stale breath, and we, the people, the workers, the proletariat, the brothers and sisters of the oppressed, must sniff it as though it were roses. We are fast approaching a time when opinions no longer matter.


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