Broken by January 6th.

It was one image. Just one image broke me. It wasn’t the cops standing idly by. It wasn’t the people on the floor of the House and the Senate who had broken their way in. It was the Dixie flag, being waved in the hallowed hall of this nation’s government. This nation fought a civil war that was anything but civil to keep the ethos and the intent of that flag (a battle flag, not the actual flag of the Confederacy, but the flag they used to fight for the preservation of slavery) out of its government. And, today, on January 6, 2021, as a pandemic rages virtually unchecked across our people, that flag made its way into the heart of my nation.

I won’t stand for people explaining it away or defending it. No one dare say to me that this atrocity was the action of “one person”…there were many flags and bandanas and shirts bearing the same horrible symbol. And, despite there being a chief architect or three behind it, the aim never wavered…and hinged on that godforsaken flag. Don’t come to me with “it was a joke” or “it’s just a part of their history.” Miss me with every bit of that.

That horror — that flag and what it truly stands for — was hidden under the guise of “conservative mindset” and “hertiage values” for over a century…and, more recently, was comfortably couched in “both sides” -ism.

What happened today was a disgrace, and has filled me with so much sorrow. The “M.A.G.A.” movement has done anything but make this nation great…and has only revealed how awful we can be.

I have now grown tired to exhaustion of allowing tacit support to be a part of this very explicit aim, which is the attempt to make America WHITE again, rather than the melting pot of cultures and characteristics I have long been told was the dream, goal, and future of our nation.

The dream is dead, if ever it drew breath. And its murderer’s banner was held high in our nation’s capital, this January 6th.