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Sacred rage

I have seen reference on multiple occasions to the idea that what was so igniting about the murder of George Floyd for many people was the moment he called out ‘Mama’. I can fucking tell you, I relate.

Becoming a mother connected me with a primal ferocity that, I believe, is dormant in all of us. It is activated at the very suggestion of harm to any mother’s child. Which is a specific way of framing the suggestion of harm to anyone. When George called out ‘Mama’, I think he shifted the frame for a whole lot of women, and probably men too. He may have been a 46-year-old man, but he was someone’s fucking child. And, I think we all know by now, he was not the only one.

So let me just channel the Primal Collective of Mothers for you for a second, because I feel like I need to get this out.

If you dare fucking harm our daughters and our sons, be damn fucking sure we will burn your fucking cities to the ground. We don’t give a shit if they were once our cities; they aren’t any more. They are vestiges of a world we will no longer tolerate, and we will dance on their ashes. We will seek you wherever you are and we will fucking cut you down. We will destroy you. We will make sure you can never, ever harm another of our sons or our daughters. We will not rest until we are done.

Something like that. Most of the time we keep this monster tamed in the interests of remaining civilised. Sometimes, however, a situation calls for the lid to come off. We have been bottling this up for a long fucking time.

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