Grief vs. rage. I’ve been going back and forth since Friday. I have two elementary school aged kids. Newtown hit me hard. But in the end, I’m a fucking pussy. I’ll blog. I’ll vote. I’ll organize. I’ll give money. But none of that requires me to leave my home, to sacrifice, to make a commitment. I’m a fucking pussy.
I appreciate the importance of healing. I respect and honor the need of victims to work through their grief. I weep — literally — at the images of communities coming together to support the victims of tragedy.
But none of that really makes a difference. You know when change will occur? It will not occur just because people come together to mourn. It will happen when people are so angry, so desperate that they act.
The evidence of action will not be a candlelight vigil. Action will only come when people instead, spontaneously mass at the NRA HQ and torch it. When they mob Congressional offices and shut them the fuck down. When gun dealers and shooting ranges are protested 24/7.
We’re not there yet. But we’ll get there. I wish I could be leading the effort. But I can’t. I’m a fucking pussy.