TRANSCRIPT

I’m Major Jackson, and this is The Slowdown.

When I think of tools of destruction, I typically imagine weapons. I picture armaments that do harm to life and limb, to nature and property. I think of handguns, tanks, assault rifles, grenades, guided missiles, you know, the big stuff we see on news programs. 

Lately, I’ve come to think of our belief systems and the digital pulpits that deliver them as psychically injurious. Which is to say, the battleground begins with words. In the worst scenario, ideologies spew hatred that leads to violence — in our synagogues, churches, mosques, schools, grocery stores, and outdoor gatherings. Even our reigning beliefs prove oppressive and emotionally harmful to some, those seeking recognition. 

How is it possible in the 21st century to believe that whole groups of people are less than anyone else, or have no right to exist because of the faith that orders their world, or to believe that people should not have full possession of their bodies? How is it still possible to demean others because of their ethnic identity or sexuality? I am so perplexed by the vile messages that speak to the basest aspects of who we are, from a period that we need not bring back.

In a climate of division where neighbors fly flags upside down, incapable of a good word while passing in a grocery store, even the most benign opinions can place us as enemies. Even our front yards, sidewalks, and storefronts, like our voting booths and Supreme Court, become sites of battle. In such a climate, is it possible to compassionately address our differences? 

I want to check myself and say that a number of really smart people are working to show that we are not as divided as the polls would suggest, that public dialogue is still possible in our democracy. 

But I remain startled by the memes, posts, news headlines and talking heads that work to manipulate us with fear, that whip us into a frenzy with language weaponized such that we do not hear or see each other. 

Today’s poem reminds us of the tools that break the bonds of human connection and life, how we must go against rhetoric that strips us of our power to feel empathy and exercise grace.

Machete: Look

by Jasminne Mendez

		It matters what you call a thing
		— Solmaz Sharif

It isn’t easy
         to look
at what I have
         cut. Which is to say —
wounded
         from the body
of a tree
         or a woman
or a child.
         Which is to say —
lean in & 
         over & learn to live
without. 
         Which is to say —
want.
         A limb.
A phantom
         pain. A cold
sharpness
         where the blood
or the blade
         remembers bone.
         Which is to say —
map
         what I have done
for war &
         for cane,
for borders & 
         for land,
to lovers & 
         to home.
Which is to say —
         look
the other way,
         there is always more
to see.

"Machete: Look" by Jasminne Mendez. Originally published in Split This Rock. Used by permission of the poet.