Social action is great and all, but are we missing the point of it? Are we growing content to buy t-shirts and drop money from a paypal account while ignoring those we see in need everyday? Why do we complain to the Government to do something when we ourselves are so barbaric as to allow it to exist in our sight?
I’m not saying I’m better than you.
I know that I’m not.
What I am saying is that,
I will not be assuaged to feel like I am making a difference because I:
wear toms, made a poster, donated my facebook status, or “raised awareness.”
I swear, if I hear “raised awareness” one more time, I will scream.
And that scream will sound strikingly similar to the hundreds of kids within 50 miles of you, screaming to drown out their father’s drunken rampage, or their mother’s tears, or the sound of a car peeling out of a driveway, or a gun going off in their neighborhood.
And your pretentious audacity to tell me that I need to get on board with the next bandwagon.
Your pamphlet on Darfur, has left a paper cut on my heart, and it drips blood,
and that blood is strikingly similar to the kind pouring from a kid in south-central, where you are too scared to go with your black jokes and nice jeans, or the blood from a homeless man beaten and bruising in a gutter because the shelter’s volunteers were all out raising awareness with cardboard cutout and public demonstrations.
Making orphans of children.
Not that the orphans here are any more important the the orphans there, but they are still orphans, unfortunately they haven’t found anyone to brand them with designer v-necks.
I am sick of you marketing the weak, the oppressed, and the murdered, exploiting the exploited for a commodity of conscious, do good, feel good, Christ on a Cross, what have I lost, wear a rubber bracelet and save a life.
If I hear “social action” one more time I will break.
And that break will be strikingly similar to the one you did not give those men on the corner,
scornful with your eyes and with your jokes, and in your judging “social actions” v-neck, walking past in shoes designed to hide your treads on their skin.
Treading on their soul.
Pulling cash from your double stitched pockets to buy carbon conscious choices that will prolong the world you so seek to end.
I’m not saying I’m better than you.
I’m not.
I just don’t pretend to be.
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