WATCHING PEOPLE MOURN AN AMERICA THAT NEVER WAS

I found this one of the best things I’ve read. Part of that is because it reminds me of the truth in the fractured, violent and yet sweet place that I call home. It reminds me that we can all show up for the Saints games, but not all of us get to hang out in the fancy bars afterward without sidelong glances being thrown. That Mardi Gras is a street thing, but some of those krewes are locked up tight.  Or, that job we disdain or the apartment we moan about is not open to anyone and everyone. And the other part of it is that Ruffin writes simply and poignantly and with fire in his veins.

 

We would have laughed in the face of your naïveté if we didn’t like you so much. It was sweet the way your eyes widened as your understanding of what we saw in our everyday lives played across your face. You were dismayed that your own blood didn’t care about the lofty constitutional precepts of justice and the pursuit of happiness for all. Your recognition of our separateness saddened us. It was like watching a child learn the truth about Santa Claus.

 

Maurice Ruffin’s piece

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About DW

New Orleans resident, writer, activist. Public market consultant.

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