(Re)Experiencing Death
So this week I have been (re) experiencing the death of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. The reprocessing of my emotions is the only explanation I have for my frustration, my anger, my inability to stay calm in the face of the very small upsets that have occurred in my life.
I've discussed this with many people - the ways in which a child experiences things and then (re)members them, not as conscious memories, but as emotions. I was seven that year when Dr. King was murdered, assassinated in an attempt to erase his vision from the hearts of the people. Sitting here at my computer I try to recall how my seven year old self lived through that day, but am unsuccessful. I don't get upset when I recall the day Abraham Lincoln was assassinated or when the Russian Czar was executed. Yet the fear in my heart is strong for this event that I lived through as a child. Relived due to the helpless way that children flop through the tragedies that adults think don't impact them. After all, what concern would a bunch of white parents in suburban San Francisco place on the impact of Dr. King's murder on their small white children.
My parents grew up in Europe and I don't think they ever consciously acknowledged the privileges they received in America because of the color of their skin. They jumped ahead of natural born citizens in job opportunities and standard of living despite having arrived with nothing but a suitcase and the promise of a cousin's couch to sleep on. So how could they understand, truly understand what was at stake and if they didn't feel their guts spilling on the ground, how could they understand the impact Dr. King had on their children - first generation American born and entwined in America's long standing discrepancies between dreams and reality.
And what does it mean to me. The white offspring of European immigrants who inheirited all of what has come before and enjoyed the benefits that trickled down according to race. I can't undo it, can't revise it, can only try to see the truth of what was and hope that what is to come will work towards the ideals of equality that we claim for this country inspite of so much evidence to the contrary.
So tomorrow I will try to recall the seven year old Karin and how she felt that day long ago. I will try to work through those unresolved emotions and hold onto the dream of an America with justice and liberty for all. And by all I mean Steel Head Trout and Grizzly Bears and wolves as well as people of all colors and abilities.
What ever happened to dreams anyway?
I've discussed this with many people - the ways in which a child experiences things and then (re)members them, not as conscious memories, but as emotions. I was seven that year when Dr. King was murdered, assassinated in an attempt to erase his vision from the hearts of the people. Sitting here at my computer I try to recall how my seven year old self lived through that day, but am unsuccessful. I don't get upset when I recall the day Abraham Lincoln was assassinated or when the Russian Czar was executed. Yet the fear in my heart is strong for this event that I lived through as a child. Relived due to the helpless way that children flop through the tragedies that adults think don't impact them. After all, what concern would a bunch of white parents in suburban San Francisco place on the impact of Dr. King's murder on their small white children.
My parents grew up in Europe and I don't think they ever consciously acknowledged the privileges they received in America because of the color of their skin. They jumped ahead of natural born citizens in job opportunities and standard of living despite having arrived with nothing but a suitcase and the promise of a cousin's couch to sleep on. So how could they understand, truly understand what was at stake and if they didn't feel their guts spilling on the ground, how could they understand the impact Dr. King had on their children - first generation American born and entwined in America's long standing discrepancies between dreams and reality.
And what does it mean to me. The white offspring of European immigrants who inheirited all of what has come before and enjoyed the benefits that trickled down according to race. I can't undo it, can't revise it, can only try to see the truth of what was and hope that what is to come will work towards the ideals of equality that we claim for this country inspite of so much evidence to the contrary.
So tomorrow I will try to recall the seven year old Karin and how she felt that day long ago. I will try to work through those unresolved emotions and hold onto the dream of an America with justice and liberty for all. And by all I mean Steel Head Trout and Grizzly Bears and wolves as well as people of all colors and abilities.
What ever happened to dreams anyway?
Labels: Death
posted by Karin Zirk at
6:04 PM
1 Comments:
I believe-- I need to believe-- that dreams are in fact alive and well. That dreams are what fuels reality and perception and that people that dream eventually do, so that change really can happen even if it is one tiny step at a time.
So keep dreaming, and doing as you can when you can... it's a good thing. xoxo
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