I am in Rhode Island. It is a great place, and kind of like Bellingham in some ways. Lyra and Andrew (in the pictures) showed me around town a little bit, to this place that looks a lot like Boulevard Park (and if you haven't been to Bellingham, you should go and visit Boulevard Park)
there was a great statue holding a frisbee, by coincidence....
the wind was blowing really hard, so I climbed up a flagpole to flap a little. Then we went to this play, about the slave trade in Providence RI. A lot I didn't know. Did you know that 1000 slave voyages were made from and to Rhode Island, and Providence was a major slave trade port?
I did not. And as I head further south, and we as a nation head towards looking for the content of our leader's character (as opposed to the color of their skin), race relations are coming at me from all over.
I feel guilty sometimes. Guilt, like a poison from priests seeking control over their congregation, like a mandate from the powerful to the not. But I am guilty for being white, where whites have punished and enslaved. In Kingcome, I could feel the bite of my skin on my consciousness. I could imagine the pent up hatred brewed from generations and years of inequality, painted boldly across my face, but I could do nothing. Now here, too, the guilt comes. Is this why history is so painful?
DC will be tough, I am sure, for though the white rule prevails there, it is the powerful that make me feel ashamed the most.
And further south, I cannot guess what I will find or feel.