My Government Means to Kill Me

by Rasheed Newson

We are not so narrowly defined as society would have us believe. Yet the limits placed on our appetites, talents, and potential are implanted in us when we are children—too young to recognize the prisons built with words. We could blame it all on our families, but then we’d never find the keys to unlock our cells. The awful genius of our confinement is that we are both the prisoner and the warden. We tell ourselves daily that we aren’t free to do this or that because we are that or this. To escape such limited thinking, we don’t have to look far. The keys are in our pocket.

If we never meet our despicable adversaries, we’d never be forced to find out how brave, resilient, and cunning we can be.

The theory goes that governmental agencies don’t accidently make accessing information or resources difficult. They do this shit on purpose. The forms are confusing, and the record keeping is ass-backward because it reflects a policy choice. A decision has been made to repel the average citizen from gaining certain knowledge or opportunities.

“What he said was, if he’d been on fire, the bitch wouldn’t have pissed on him to put it out.”

What would be the fun in fooling around with a guy who woke up every morning three minutes before the alarm clock rang, who remembered to floss after every meal, who never failed to walk the dog and pay the electric bill, who drank enough water and ate enough fiber to stay regular, who said please and thank you, who behaved like the voice in his head was calm and rational?

“Oh yeah, Miss Thang here likes there to be something to gab about later.”

There’s surprisingly little that I regret in my life, but I regret not voting in every fucking primary, special, and general election possible. The country could have improved so much sooner if I and those that shared my indifference had cast ballots religiously.

Robber barons, political overlords, and other powerful devils can reign with impunity for decades, and the terror they inflict on those of us beneath them can feel eternal. Yet there is one stone that will slay them all: time. Devils grow old, and the world around them eventually exceeds their understanding and control. Never forget that. Never let them forget it.

Winning rarely changes how people perceive us and almost never soothes our insecurities. Winning, as most of us conceive it, is external and public. I didn’t yet know that the most rewarding activities of my life would be those done in secret.

“My foremothers didn’t call it abortion. There was no such word. They thought it common sense to put the woman’s life first.”

Women fill a need because they see a need. We don’t necessarily get pleasure from it. We don’t expect a reward. We don’t expect shit.”

The point is to let your bruised and bloodied bodies serve as evidence that the government means to kill you, if you so much as protest its bigoted policies.”

Through me, MoMA was going to support the Gay Rights Movement.

Tomorrow was kept at bay by the sound of Jackie’s voice.

I can see now that our faith in Angie was rooted in selfishness. We told ourselves she was superhuman because if we admitted that she wasn’t, we would have to do more to help her. What lousy men we were.

“Oh, honey, villains never stop to consider that they’ve done anything wrong.”

“You’re a goddamn angel,” she said. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you different.”