In the age of social information consumption the widely exploited freedom of the press has left news outlets with an exposure; a dirty secret that has been known for so long by those who really see what it is that has been going down, since the days before Conkite. There has always been the story, but where is “the story” the untainted one?

Over the past few days, the media circuits have attempted to dazzle us with their deep concessions; their statements of defense against the offense; spreading rumors-a new all-time low for them, no way have the media skewed the opinions of an entire nation with false journalism-if you can still call it that these days. I recon we ought to commend these outlets for taking a break from the Lohan and Gibson stories to splash a little dirt in the way of “equal opportunity” in their own style; a misdirection of sorts, but it seems the wind blew back on them. However, what has been more apparent in all of this, is the open revelation of how the television has been hiding a realism in plain sight, that America is still sick. You can call it a rush to report if you will, but there was much more in play than a simple slip up.

What really gets me in all of the ruckus of racial-charge in the post civil rights era in America, long after the songs of overcoming have escaped the throats of the oppressed in the “land of the free”, are the slightest and not so subtle emergence of ethnological enervations. They have a way of rearing themselves like a bad uncle who only shows up when least desired. Leaves to question, is there racial equality or racial acceptance here in this wounded place; this place that is bruised to the core on ethnic abuses. Is this the American story: a cycle of rage and acceptance, to only recycle the process on to future generations?

This morganatic marriage of ethnographic suspension has us all on edge, waiting for the next exhale of disgust. This nuance of race tension, is not just a question of political position, but one that finds its way across several facets of our existence. This is no less apparent in literary communities, cultural art, and the social fabric in America. Where is the resolve, the acceptance of us/we in a coexistence to heal the wounds of a long and abused WE?

© 2010 Tshombe