United States of Grace by Lenny Duncan

Author:Lenny Duncan [Duncan, Lenny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: REL012110 Religion / Christian Life / Social Issues, BIO031000 Biography & Autobiography / Lgbt, BIO002010 Biography & Autobiography / Cultural, Ethnic & Regional / African American & Black
Publisher: Broadleaf Books

O Saint Nobody, patron saint of hitchhikers, roadside attractions, and Waffle Houses,

You who smell of hope, promise, burned coffee, and bacon,

Sweet guardian of futures untold and fates unknown,

May you grant me this one boon, grant me the power and will,

The holy anger and wisdom to burn white supremacy to the fucking ground with my dying breath.

Amen.

8

Sixteen in Solitary

It would be hard to tell my story as a Black man in America and not talk about the prison-industrial complex. One cannot wade through the four-hundred-year flood that is oppression in this country and not be affected by this new enslavement of people of color. Nor can you ever underestimate the influence this predatory system has over what Blackness is allowed to mean in America, what is permissible Blackness. Even if you haven’t encountered the so-called justice system like I have, if you are Black in this country, the policing of your body and personhood has changed the entire trajectory of your life. The constant public negotiation of what it means to be Black in society. The constant surveillance of your every move, being in a state of constant vigilance that becomes a part of your daily walk. The stress. Just moving through the day or walking into a room. The constant mental gymnastics: Are they looking at me because they are nice? Is that why they are smiling? Is it because I have invaded this white space with my presence? Are they uncomfortable? Am I? Is it me?

These negotiations start to whittle away at your soul and leave you a hollowed-out husk that was once brimming with life and resistance. Teeming with revolution. Instead, you are worn down until there is nothing left. White supremacy is relentless, and I expect to one day meet one of a thousand ends reserved for uppity niggers who have the nerve to thrive despite all the odds. Whether death by law enforcement or death by surviving in a country not designed for me to survive in, death is the only option. Whether it is the death of all hope and my spirit or my body crushed under a state trooper’s boot. The only door that is opened for me with surprising regularity by America is the one that returns me to dust. This brutal reality explains my fascination with resurrection. And I know I have waxed poetically about what this country is and could be up to this point. But to understand my America, I have to take you to some dark places. One of those places is administrative segregation, or AdSeg. Or the hole. I prefer the term the hole. Solitary confinement.

I was subjected to this human torture throughout my teens and adulthood. I wouldn’t have described it to you this way at the time, and maybe before COVID-19 and intentional, compassionate social distancing, most people wouldn’t be able to empathize with what I’m trying to describe to you. But it was torture. There is a reason the most punitive thing you can do to a human being around the world short of killing them is cutting them off from community.

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