Tag: violence

When Words Kill

In August of 1940, Leon Trotsky was sitting in his study in Mexico City.

It was a peaceful moment. A quiet moment. One that would soon be brutally disrupted.

For there was another man in the study with Trotsky – Ramon Mercader. And as Trosky started reading an article, Mercader hit him in the head with a mountaineering axe.

The blow proved fatal to Trotsky. And it caused outrage far beyond the Mexican capital.

For Trosky was no average citizen. He was a prominent writer and thinker, who also happened to be living in exile.

Yes, Trotsky – who helped form the U.S.S.R – had fled the bloc when he got on the wrong side of Joseph Stalin. And that separation seemingly negated the threat Trotsky posed to the Stalin regime.

Indeed, all Trotsky had left were his words. But those words still got him brutally murdered half a world away — at the behest of the regime.

Words, it seemed, could kill.

Congress shall make no law respecting the establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or of the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

So reads the First Amendment of the United States Constitution.

There are only six words in that clause dedicated to the right to speak in America. But one of those six words is freedom.

For years, we’ve pointed to that right. We’ve considered it to be tougher than Teflon. Something that differentiates the United States from other nations.

The power of this right was made evident by looking across our southern border. Leon Trotsky – an exile from a nation 7,000 miles away from Mexico – still found himself in mortal danger there for something he’d said.

Such an outcome would be considered unconstitutional in America. It simply wouldn’t be allowed.

Or would it?

Twenty-three years after Trotsky’s demise, United States President John F. Kennedy was riding in a motorcade in Dallas, Texas, when a bullet ripped through his skull. He was rushed to Parkland Hospital and quickly pronounced dead.

Kennedy’s accused assassin – Lee Harvey Oswald – was himself murdered during a prisoner transport days later. And conspiracy theories continue as to whether someone else pulled the trigger on shot that felled the president. So, we don’t know the motive behind the murder of the leader of the free world.

But what is clear is that Kennedy’s words, as much as anything else, led to his demise.

You see, John F. Kennedy was barely halfway through his term as president when he was killed. Most of the signature actions we associate with him — such as space exploration and Civil Rights legislation — hadn’t occurred yet. Lyndon Johnson would ultimately take those across the finish line.

We associate those actions with Kennedy because of his words. Because of his speeches and addresses.

It was Kennedy who declared We choose to go to the moon in this decade. It was Kennedy who spoke pointedly against the advance of the U.S.S.R. on multiple occasions. It was Kennedy who spoke out against segregation following the attacks on protesters in Birmingham, Alabama.

Any of those words could have driven an aggrieved opponent to violence. And they ultimately did.

Words could kill.

About four and a half years after President John F. Kennedy was assassinated, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was gunned down in Memphis.

Much like Kennedy, King had towered over the 1960s. His activism in the service of the Black community had been extensive, and it led to extensive Civil Rights legislation.

But if we take a closer look at King’s contributions to that movement, it’s his words that come to the fore.

It was King’s Letter from Birmingham Jail that set a roadmap for his activism. It was King’s I have a dream speech that captivated so many — making his cause their cause.

Still, that cause – equal rights – was considered controversial in parts of our society. Indeed, an entire swath of the country was built on a platform that directly conflicted with that ideal.

So, an assassin decided to put an end to King’s letters and speeches. He spotted King on the balcony of a Memphis motel. And the assassin shot him.

Two months later, it was John F. Kennedy’s brother Robert who would meet an untimely demise. In the ensuing decades, President Gerald Ford and Ronald Reagan would survive assassination attempts.

A stark reality was coming into view.

The carnage in Dallas wasn’t a one-off. It was the start of a trend.

Sure, people could say what they wanted in America. But if they were prominent enough, those words might keep them from seeing tomorrow.

This concept has come back into focus in recent years. President Donald Trump survived two assassination attempts while campaigning for his second term. And recently, conservative pundit Charlie Kirk was gunned down during an event at a Utah college.

Many have labeled these incidents as political violence, but that belies the point. These individuals were all targeted for exercising their First Amendment rights. And many of them paid the ultimate price.

Freedom of speech, it seems, only practically extends so far.

Back in 2008, I studied abroad in Chile.

Amid the peaks of the Andes and the serene beauty of the Pacific Ocean, I noticed something else – hordes of students engaging in protest.

As a college student who was months away from voting in his first U.S. Presidential election, I was intrigued by this development. But several people told me to stay away.

The police don’t play around here, they told me in Spanish. They show up in riot gear and use tear gas and water cannons. It will burn your eyes and ruin your clothes.

I was horrified by these descriptions. But the locals told me it had once been much worse.

During the reign of Augusto Pinochet, protestors weren’t merely sprayed with tear gas. They were whisked off to secret detention sites, never to be seen again.

It had been 18 years since that dictatorship ended and the disappearances ceased. But I could still see the wariness in the eyes of so many of the locals.

They were exceedingly kind. But they were also reserved. Even after four Pisco Sours, they were unlikely to speak their minds.

It was only those students – too young to remember the Pinochet era – who dared to speak up and face the tear gas.

This is the long shadow that censorship carries.

Rules and regulations, rights and freedoms – they supposedly set the groundwork for discourse. But once we see the blood splatter, or find our acquaintances whisked away, those guidelines go out the window.

The walls close in, and we clam up. A single bullet effectively silences multiple voices.

I worry about this fate befalling America.

Sure, the outliers and the extremists might continue to yammer on, even in the wake of violence. That is their prerogative, and the carnage will not deter them.

But what about the rest of us? Will we feel the same liberty to speak our minds, as we see the bloody corpses of orators on our screens?

I doubt it.

I’m not sure if there’s tidy way out of this conundrum. It’s hard to feel secure when violence is an omnipresent threat.

My only hope is for more of us to face our fears head-on. To leave the cocoon of self-censorship, and to share our thoughts with the world — as I’ve done here at Ember Trace for nearly a decade.

It’s a risk, yes. But it’s one worth taking.

Words can kill. But they can also change the world.

It’s high time we let them.

The Trials of Our Time

About a week ago, I wrote a blog article that was meant to be shared here. The article was about Dallas — how it is so often misunderstood, how what makes it special is hidden behind the stereotypical perceptions held by outsiders and whether all of this even matters.

I believe in every word of that article. But it will have to wait for another time.

As I was reading over my completed draft of that article, a nightmare was unfolding less than 20 miles away, in the heart of downtown Dallas. A peaceful protest against police brutality was suddenly ambushed by a barrage of bullets, aimed by a sniper at the officers on duty in the area. Five officers lost their lives in the attack, while seven others — plus two civilians — sustained injuries. It was quite possibly the most heinous incident in Dallas since President Kennedy was gunned down at Dealey Plaza — a mere two blocks from the most recent atrocity — more than 50 years ago.

The past few days have, admittedly, been difficult for me. I reckon they’ve been difficult for all North Texans. And while I’m no stranger to the emptiness left by senseless tragedy — having been in New York City on 9/11 and having covered some awful stories during my news media career — the pain I feel is different this time, in part because the situation is so much more complex.

You’ve probably heard commentary from countless angles over the violent events of the first week of July 2016 by now. This is not another piece of angled commentary. It’s a narrative I hope is shared by so many who are deeply disturbed by these recent events, but are also weighed down by the balance of perspective.

Given the perilous state of our society, I feel it’s my duty to share this narrative here.

***

“Dallas is a city that loves.”

Those words from Dallas Police Chief David Brown the day after the city’s most heinous attack in decades.

He’s right.

Despite the bad rap Dallas gets elsewhere — including the derogatory “New York of Texas” moniker given by the folks down I-35 apiece — this is one of the friendliest places I’ve ever called home. Strangers are genuinely kind and respectful, and friends have treated me like family.

While Dallas’ official tourism slogan is “Big Things Happen Here,” I’ve long thought it should read “Your Life Matters Here.” Aside from New York, I’ve rarely seen a more diverse and inclusive region; in fact, I personally feel Dallas is more openly diverse than Miami — a city that considers itself “The Gateway to the Americas”.

Of course, “Your Life Matters Here” brings us to the heart of the recent tragedies.

There is a define trend of African American men losing their lives at the hands of law enforcement in this country. It is real, it is disturbing and it must be properly addressed.

But the Dallas Police Department, by and large, has not been a part of this trend. Serving a city that, despite its welcoming attitude, is far from perfect — a city that still features its share of bad neighborhoods and violent crime — the department has made great strides to fulfill their duties without creating a culture of racial prejudice displayed in Ferguson, Saint Paul, Baton Rouge and even New York.

But that didn’t matter to one former member of the U.S. Army, a man who looked down at white and Hispanic men in badges and saw red.

He didn’t just take the lives of five men who were doing their job by protecting a group of people who were protesting atrocities committed by their own profession, he took the lives of five North Texans. Men who had families. Men who made plenty of sacrifices just to join the police force. Men who truly cared about the community they served. Men who would stop pro athletes to take a photo with them, just as other North Texans would.

Heck, some of the men and women he targeted had stopped to pose for pictures with the protesters momentsearlier. But that didn’t matter to this sniper, who had categorically picked them for extermination.

And that is why I take this incident so personally.

I am not black. I am not in law enforcement. So I don’t know what it’s like to have a continual target on my back. But the thought of being systematically categorized and eliminated based off something as basic as my skin tone or line of work is unconscionable. It’s a risk all my friends with darker skin tones face continually, and one that all my friends and acquaintances in law enforcement must be aware of as well. And it’s a situation that cost five officers — five of my extended neighbors — their lives.

We cannot let this continue. For if we do, we’re heading for a path of self-destruction. Coast to coast, the racial divide is as bad right now as I’ve ever seen it in my life. Distrust is high and violent confrontation has taken hold. We’re on the brink of a total meltdown that would annihilate everything good our society has ever stood for.

These are the trials of our time, and we must deal with them.

We must take the steps to come together and save ourselves. The angry voices on the edge need not take the lead; that’s the responsibility of those in the middle — the ones who care about fair treatment for all, but have done little to speak up so far.

We must put aside our differences and unite against hate, against prejudice and against this horrific violence.

***

As I turned onto the Woodall Rodgers Freeway the other night, I noticed the iconic Dallas skyline, decked out in blue in honor of the fallen officers. It was a beautiful, captivating sight — but also a melancholy one. Our city is certainly hurting right now, but we will endure.

Our society must make the changes needed to do the same.

Rise Up Together

As I drove by a bank the other day, I noticed the Texas and American flags in front of it were at half-mast. By the time I reached the next red light, I had figured out which tragedy the half-mast gesture was referencing. That’s when I came to a truly depressing revelation.

It seems as if the flags are at half-mast more often than they’re flying high these days.

This is not normal. Furthermore, it shouldn’t be normal. We’re the greatest country in the world, a beacon of freedom and hope. We shouldn’t have to spend 30 seconds trying to figure out who we’re mourning today.

Mass shootings or terrorist attacks are a monthly occurrence in this nation. It’s something we’ve got to change, and I’ll be damned if I watch in silence any longer.

So let’s talk.

Every time a horrific act of mass violence breaks out, the general reaction seems to be the same. Shock, anger, depression, acceptance — all of the stages of grief are in play in some form, except bargaining. There’s usually a call for political action of some sort in there, but don’t confuse that with compromise. It’s more about taking a stand.

But turning to politics is a dead-end road. I’ve always believed the problem with politics is that Conservatives think they have the right answer and Liberals know they have the right answer. In truth, neither side does — making the dialogue between the two sides toxic in times like these, when tensions are high. Yet, when it comes to a response to the recent wave of bloodshed, the answer isn’t so clear-cut anyway, so let’s dig deeper.

Mass shootings exploit a flaw in the documentation our country is built upon. The right to bear arms is protected under the Second Amendment of the United States Constitution, but the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness is protected under the Declaration of Independence. Mass shootings use one of our rights to callously deny another.

Sometimes the flaw can run even deeper. Religious expression is protected under the First Amendment of the United States Constitution. But when religious extremists open fire on others, they use two our rights to deny the most fundamental one we all have.

That said, taking away the rights to religion and to bear arms won’t rid us of these tragedies. People have been killing each other since the time of Cain and Abel, and people have been using religion as an impetus for violence for nearly as long. The bad guys will find a way, regardless of which tools they have at their disposal. Where we fail, collectively, is letting them become the bad guys in the first place.

I believe that there is good in most of us. But we don’t show it enough. Selfishness, hate and deceit are but a few of the evil tendencies of humanity that are all too prevalent in our society. When the less glamorous side of our existence is on display in large numbers, these dark feelings can consume the weak minded to the point of committing terrible actions.

We must show the good in ourselves more often. Spewing hate and closed-mindedness at others only breeds violence. Selfishly denying assistance to those who need help only leads to tragedy.

The holidays are here. Let’s show the good in ourselves — the compassion, selflessness and universal acceptance that has made our society so great. Let us show love over hate, collectively. This will help quell the crimson tide of bloodshed more than any anti-gun legislation or plan for religious persecution by an imbecile Presidential candidate ever will. We not only can do this. We must do this.

Let’s rise up together.