“let us be real today. let us be real today”

“all we offer are moments of silence”

last week, hundreds of young people flooded the Tennessee capital to protest the state legislature’s inaction, to call on representatives to ban assault weapons. Justin Jones joined them, 27 year old Black and Filipino representative of Nashville, along with two other representatives.

days after the protest, the republican majority legislature (in the state where the KKK was founded) voted to expel Justin Jones and his colleague, Justin J. Pearson of Memphis for their involvement in and support of the protest. the two young Black leaders have got to go.

i watched parts of Jones’ address last Thursday. he’s an orator like the best of them. at one point, another representative asked him what he meant by “no action, no peace.” he offered two different translations of Jeremiah 6:14

they offer superficial treatments for my people’s mortal wound, they give assurances of peace where there is no peace

they address the wound of my people as though it is not serious. peace peace peace they say where there is no peace.

he noted that it’s easier to get a gun than it is to get healthcare or vote in his state. he also noted that representatives who have peed on each other’s seats in the chamber, are known pedophiles, and who have abused their wives, have not been expelled.

as part of his closing he said, “when i came to this well i was fighting for your children and grand children too…to live free from the terror of school shootings and mass shootings.”

three nine year olds, Evelyn, Hallie, and William were among the dead after the school shooting in Nashville on March 27th. two sixty year olds and a sixty one year old were also killed, Cynthia, Katherine, and Mike.

i don’t spend much time with nine year olds, but on Friday i attended an art show opening, where a nine year old was tasked with giving a tour of the installation and telling knock knock jokes. the child wore sparkly cat eye glasses and all black. her stage presence was impressive and her dismissal of some of the adults’ more convoluted questions was as funny as the knock knock jokes.

i am thinking about her peers, and their friends, and what it was like to be nine. it feels like a long time ago. i wonder what else was in store for Evelyn, Hallie, and William, for Cynthia, Katherine, and Mike. i wonder what the people who loved them wanted to ask them or tell them at recess, or over dinner.

“Write for your dead....Let them hold you accountable. Let them make you bolder or more modest or louder or more loving, whatever it is, but ask them in, listen, and then write. And when war comes—and make no mistake, it is already here—be sure you write for the living too. The ones you love, and the ones who are coming for your life.”1

let me be real.