Today is the anniversary of the attack by police thugs on protesters at the first march in Selma, Alabama in 1965.
The town of Selma was founded by my 6th great uncle. I am related by marriage to the man this bridge was named after, Edmund Pettus,a Confederate General and Grand Dragon in the KKK. Whereas I once suspected I had relatives among the red-faced, crew cutted monsters who beat and sicced dogs on peaceful men, women and children that day: now I know that I do. It feels exactly like those metaphysical chains Jacob Marley is forced to carry around in the afterlife. I’ve spent the last several months (among other things) ruminating about ways to start making work that chips away at this moral debt, in a way that makes sense for me. I’ll be emerging from hibernation over the next several months, with projects that I hope will do more to make the world a better place. Like so many of my heroes (Voltaire, Charlie Chaplin), I hope to remain entertaining while I do it. But I’ve definitely lost all patience for people who just want to be left alone with their diversions and distractions when the world remains so out of wack. If it bores ya: