the state of things

I've been thinking about them this year. I'm sure you know whom. Chances are, you've been thinking about them too.

Luis Gustavo Núñez Cáceres died at a hospital in Conroe, Texas after living in a concentration camp for six weeks. Geraldo Lunas Campos died by homicide in another concentration camp in El Paso, Texas. ICE claimed he tried to die by suicide, but the autopsy and witnesses confirm that his captors killed him. Víctor Manuel Díaz died in that same camp less than two weeks later. His family disputes ICE's claims that he died by suicide, too. Parady La died at a hopital in Philadelphia still under custody. He suffered from drug withdrawal in Philadelphia's concentration camp while his organs failed. Renee Nicole Good was leaving the scene of an ICE abduction near her home when they murdered her. The day before, Luis Beltrán Yáñez-Cruz died of heart failure in custody weeks after ICE kidnapped him. Heber Sánchez Domínguez died at a concentration camp in Georgia. It's possible he died by suicide but we don't know for sure. Alex Pretti was helping a fallen protestor when agents surrounded, beat, and shot him to death. I'm grateful to Melissa Hellmann at the Guardian for bearing witness to the people we've lost. She and many others have kept each of these names alive. Their lives held significance and value beyond their early deaths.

Indeed, those 8 people could have been any of us. Our oppressors don't care who we are. They believe that people who aren't white don't belong here. They believe that anyone white who stands against them are traitors to their race. It's unfortunate but true that we probably know two of these names best. I wish our society treated every life as having equal worth and value. Of course there's a racial component to that. The u.s. media never gave the same fair coverage to the war in Palestine that they gave the war in Ukraine. But these people and many more, 32 last year alone, died unjustly. Each loss is senseless and unnecessary.

This year, yes, but for every year since its founding, the united states has had a propensity for violence. With that, I realize, comes a numbness. A challenge for me is to keep from internalizing that numbness myself. I've been getting up early to read Ruth Wilson Gilmore's book Abolition Geography. Gilmore collected essays, speeches, and interviews over three decades of her work. If you're not familiar with the author, check out this interview with Sonali Kolhatkar. Or try the popular account Ruth Wilson Gilmore Girls (yep). Released in 2022, Gilmore's essays will feel relevant for as long as we throw people into cages. In one chapter, Gilmore writes,

“In my view, the founding moments of US nationalism, well-rehearsed in mainstream histories, are foundational to both state and culture. First, the United States was “conceived in slavery” and christened by genocide. These early practices established high expectations of state aggression against enemies of the national purpose—such as revolutionary slaves and indigenous peoples—and served as the crucible for development of a military culture that valorized armed men in uniform as the nation’s true sacrificial subjects.”

Gilmore argues that before it was even born, the culture of the u.s. was state aggression. The police and the military operate within that culture. Most people don't even notice it. Unless (until) you're the target of that aggression it feels like the radio. It's on in the background while we go about our lives at home and work. Agencies like ICE further weaponize that culture. They do their horrible work in outfits that look like what the police and american military wear. The Minnesota National Guard now wear vests so they don't look as much like ICE agents. But the focus—the target—of that aggression isn't fixed. It can change at any time to suit any purpose. This force might feel restrained with another president in office. But that's only because someone else is now in the crosshairs.

This is the landscape we live in. Change here is possible, even critical, but it won't be easy. Against the terror in our world, we can be steadfast and resolute, like a stone resists a river. Or we can be persistent and overwhelming, like the same river against the stone. I heard Ruth Wilson Gilmore speak at a conference a few years ago. She said, “There are more of us than there are of them. Our job is to find more us.” Whatever we resist, we must resist together.

I hope I live a long life. But I also make that same wish for the people I defend. We all deserve a life of comfort, of safety, of belonging. Where I differ from my enemies is that they want that kind of life only for themselves. They will exploit, imprison, burn out, and even kill a person who they feel is a threat to their own comfort. There is no reform capable of controlling this violence. Training only produces more efficient killers. It only makes people's deaths more high-resolution.

I'm still reading Abolition Geography so I'm sure I'll have more to say soon. People who are wiser and more experienced than me have put great thought into what might come next. They've been working on these issues for decades, even centuries. I see my role, in part, is to draw from their wisdom and incorporate it into my own. My role as a descendant is to bear witness and keep standing up. I hope we continue to stand together. I hope we can find more us.