This morning as I scrolled my Facebook feed, I came across multiple posts defending Bill Cosby. Most were pushing that tired ass narrative blaming his troubles on his attempt to acquire NBC. The most offensive was a meme insinuating that he couldn't possibly be guilty because he didn't rape any of the gorgeous women from the Cosby show. If that ain't the dumbest shit I've ever heard. It's so dumb it makes me tired. Since when has rape been about beauty? The truly heartbreaking thing is that the woman who posted ALL this nonsense lost a child to sexual violence. If this were anybody else, I would have been totally chill deficient. I would have lost all my shit and cashed in all my fucks. In this case, my fury was subverted by my confusion. What the actual fuck? If a woman whose entire life was blown off course by a man like this -a man she knew and trusted- can stand firm in blind allegiance, what hope do we have?
I wrote and deleted several replies. I moved to my timeline and wrote and deleted there as well. I stood at the gate of understanding and I couldn't figure out a way in. I held compassion and disbelief but my umbrage made my hands heavy and I couldn't maintain my grip. I used to think that I could bridge any gap and climb any mountain, but I'm learning my limitations. I know that when confronted with madness, I too become mad.
The Lady tells me that I'm too logical, too deep. She says my generation always wants to fight and always has a cause. Perhaps this is true. Perhaps we enter the world armed with accusation and angst. I think it's more probable that we are made, that the sacrifices of our ancestors and our elders have made our backs straighter and our voices louder. I don't wish to be argumentative, I wish there weren't so many causes to have. I wish girls were allowed their autonomy and queers were allowed their livelihood and brown folks were allowed their joy. I wish oppression wasn't a spectator sport.
Something I've noticed since I’ve been back home is the privilege associated with ideas. People feel not only entitled to their opinions, but also, obligated to tell you about them. They want to tell you how they feel about the gays and the feminists and the n*ggers and Osama Bin Laden’s cousins (yes that’s a phrase I’ve heard used multiple times in reference to Muslims). They stitch themselves so tightly to an idea or belief, that facts can fuck right off. This week Kanye set everyone's thumbs ablaze with his free thought fuckery. In doing so, he proved that no amount of money or access can compete with plum foolishness. Damon Young wrote a piece hypothesizing that Kanye’s particular brand of dumdum was fueled by his refusal to read books. I tend to agree. The more your brain absorbs new information, the more likely it is to loosen its grip on nonsense and hocus pocus and the shit some n*gga with a deep voice said.
As I attempt to juggle sadness and righteous indignation, I try to be optimistic. I live my truth and encourage others to do the same. And while my truth may differ from yours, I hope that in the end we are all free.