Posted in Epiphany, Grief, Human Rights

Inclusion, Diversity, Decolonization

I’ve felt sometimes perhaps the world has become over cautious in trying to ‘make nice’ with those who have been marginalized, vilified and persecuted.

I have looked at it with the view point that every single race of people in the history of the world has preyed on their conquests, the odd animals in the pack are killed off. This behavior as an overall view doesn’t seem out of character for this world – and I have found myself feeling odd that it’s such a problem. Bare with me, I’m getting there.

Then again I am a white, cis female who isn’t obviously ‘other’ when you first look at me.

Then I started to think about how when dealing with trauma victims people have a period of time where they are managed; people around them are extra cautious about triggering the trauma. As time goes on we begin to treat these people more and more normally without necessarily being hyper aware of their past trauma, though we still acknowledge the struggle it could be.

In the recent history of the world as we know it in the United States our African American rights have changed drastically. Japanese Americans were imprisoned in WWII, women continued to fight for a place in careers, LBGQ+ just recently granted the same rights and responsibilities of straight married partners, Indigenous Americans were rather recently in the grand scheme of things, recognized as citizens for the purpose of national votes.

Their trauma is newer. Their crisis is still being felt.

Sadly, in some cases their crisis is still being experienced… and now we have government sanctioned terror like ICE.

I’m sure I’m not the first person to think of this, and I won’t be the last. It strikes me that if a person is healed by time and space to recover from a trauma, perhaps we should let our cultures who have been traumatized the time and space to recover as well.

Posted in Grief


As a trauma rips through Marysville Washington, I am reminded of a piece I wrote when I too was a teenager.

As the smoke rises from the ashes,
The time quickly passes.

For when the clock starts ticking,
The grave diggers begin digging.

Your life silently slips away,
And we plant flowers at your grave.

Loved ones wonder why,
It had to be you that would die.

Your enemies begin to speak,
Of conquering others who are weak.

And you most of all,
Heeds the nameless voice that calls.

Telling you of a lost bliss,
Where at last you may find peacefulness.

Penned under the name Misty Chaplin (now Misty Taylor) ©1995