January, 1987.
I was a skinny teenager who just learned how to drive.
I would drive around the cul-de-sac until I was dizzy,
because I wanted to be a good driver.
I had never driven very far.
Just to school and church,
both only a few miles away.
We had moved to Georgia years before
just before the Atlanta Child Murders began.
It began, and I was obsessed.
I followed that case.
I walked with my dogs to the Chattahoochee River.
all the time.
I brought my canoe there.
It was my river.
Now there were dead children and people
being dumped there.
I was horrified and fascinated.
I wanted to solve it.
Thus began my fascination with serial killers.
(this and the Jonestown Massacre
which had happened years before,
when I was like 8 years old,
but I collected every article).
Anyways, come 1987.
I was a strange teenager,
dealing with non-typical teenage problems:
Serial Killers, Cult Brain Washing, Civil Rights,
Crime Fighting and a million other
very complicated issues that ruled my brain.
January, 1987.
Somehow I heard about a protest march in
Forsyth County, GA.
It was about the injustices for black people
in a county that seemed to refuse
equal rights and had a high kkklan ratio.
I got in my car, and old chevette,
as a shaky new driver,
and by the grace of God,
little, skinny, white girl,
I was going.
And it was far.
I arrived alone.
It was scary.
There was the National Guard,
and officers and military type people
every where.
The march led down a beautiful tree covered
path.
I inched my tiny self amoungst the marchers
for civil rights.
Each tree lining the path
seemed to have a black clothed,
fully armed swat member to go with it.
A gauntlet and an orchard.
I was scared, but I was there.
I was marching for civil rights.
It was important.
The KKK were around in their dunce caps.
There were so many visuals,
but to me,
there will always only be one.
A thin white man
Standing on a hill that we marched past
by himself.
He had black tape
wrapped around his head and mouth
and stood silently
on that hill
in view of all
holding a sign that read:
"I LIVE HERE."
I wish I had a camera,
but clearly I didn't need one.
It is one of the most indelible
images of my life.
I feel like that sometimes now,
in our current political environment.
Like if you stand up and say,
"HEY THIS ISN'T RIGHT"
You would be crucified,
although it is true.
There has been a campaign launched
that if you say anything about the current
administrations actions, profits,
murder, lies...
that you are unpatriotic or some
bad person,
when, really,
the people challenging a government
they do not feel is acting correctly is truly
the most patriotic thing one can do.
You are paying them,
you do have the right to question.
We should always be asking questions.
People are scared.
People are confused.
I am fighting to not
shut up
and just don
black tape wrapped around
my head and mouth
and my keyboard
with a sign
that simply says,
"I LIVE HERE."
