I met a woman. We were eating in a group, at a table for five, and we began to talk. As many people do when eating together. We discussed politics. Openly. Not something many people do. We engaged into deep conversation about our opinions on ignorance. And amongst this political gossip, the woman told a story of when she couldn't sit through a conversation.
She ate with a group of adult men. They talked about politics. In "civil" conversation, a man says, "white man built the white house." The woman left the room.
Ignorance. The ignorance of humanity.
Unfortunately, when it comes to politics, we often don't speak. And when we do, we disagree. And if we disagree, we cannot convince the other to follow us. At least rarely. So we are stuck. In awkward silence, we are stuck. With anger.
In The Thinking Men (side thought: how do you write the title of a short story?), silence is a dangerous thing. We can never truly understand the pain of others. But we can learn. We can remember silence speaks louder than words.
A PLACE which seems so far is right under our toes. The pain we live on, the sweat we breath, but tell ourselves, "It was so long ago. We have come so far since then." But its still here. "A clear mark upon.. [the] world" (166).
It's in the walls of a schoolroom, in the walls of our jobs. It's a silent place. The place that makes us get up, without a word, and leave a room because we know deep down nothing good will come. Nothing will change. We tell people they can change, they can get better and they have the same chance as we do. But things haven't changed. People have just gotten better at lying. Or at least have evolved their lies.
Why would we have to say nothing is wrong and always argue, "it's different now," if it was truly different. It's like when you're caught in a lie you tell, and you get angry because no one believes you. And then they say, "Why do you care if it doesn't matter?"
It's not in a distant land. It's not far off in a world we don't know. It's here. In this place. At the dinner table. Then, and now. It's us. It's them. It's we.
Even if we can't see it. It's there.
Nikkey Finney says, beautifully, the place she knows of, even if she didn't necessarily experience it first hand. She can say she feels the wounds that were left behind.
This is an interesting approach to the blog, Hannah. It goes to the heart of Finney's poem and reflects prismatically on what she was saying in "The Thinking Man" (can be quotes, can be italics :)
ReplyDeleteA little more on the text, but don't lose the connections.
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