The Caller Is Inside The House

Another day ending in Y, another mass shooting in America. 

This is who we are. 


Honestly, fam, this one hits different. Remember when that white boy went into the El Paso WalMart and shot it up because he hated immigrants and Latinos? That was anger inducing, sure, but in Trump’s America it was unsurprising. 

A U.S. President spends an election running on hating brown skinned immigrants, gets endorsed by the KKK and other white nationalist groups? I am only surprised Trump his own self didn’t show up with bail money for young Patrick.

But Uvalde feels different. In a lot of ways it feels far more personal. This time the shooter was a member of the Latino community. 

It’s not supposed to be that way. Whether you’re the beigest of chicanos like me, or someone who just crossed the river, when we see each other there’s a recognition; we should know we’re safe. 

Take this little southern town I have called home for the last eight years; there’s been an uptick of immigrants helping with the rebuild post Hurricane Michael. For me that’s been a relief. I no longer stand out. I see brown skinned people and I smile inside and out. I am no longer alone in the deep, white south. My hope is that seeing me eases their anxiety in this foreign place. 

We should have each other’s backs. 

Yeah, I realize how naive that sounds. Idealistic. Stupid. 

I just… 

I dunno, man, I just fucking can’t.


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