blue

“No guts, these people,” said Tim at length, with something of the chill of an upper civil servant condemning a lapse into humanity.

But after a certain point in life a person has to dunk her regrets in the morning coffee, just like biscuits.

There was no lull from news bulletins coming through the radio; the French stations told how the English people were digging trenches in Hyde Park, and the English stations told how the French were calm and ready for anything.

Shopping IT WAS FIVE IN THE MORNING and still overcast. The dreadful stink seemed to be getting worse. As usual, Emily walked down Robert Street as far as Blom’s grocery store. The shards of glass squeaked under her shoes and she decided that one day she’d have to make the place a little more approachable. So long as it didn’t interfere with her co

A white participant said to him, “I don’t see race; I don’t see you as black.” My co-trainer’s response was, “Then how will you see racism?” He then explained to her that he was black, he was confident that she could see this, and that his race meant that he had a very different experience in life than she did. If she were ever going to understand

But she kept silent. She supposed that this had to be, and had to be done in this manner; she was part of his life and his life was part politics.

But Felicity, after all, is something for us to practise benevolence upon.’

Though white fragility is triggered by discomfort and anxiety, it is born of superiority and entitlement. White fragility is not weakness per se. In fact, it is a powerful means of white racial control and the protection of white advantage.

Poetry! The endemic illness of young malcontents, desperately embracing beauty, hog-tied to the tempting rhymes of a loaned-out language, tossed about between Creole and French like those rowboats over there on the sea I can hear but not see crashing from my shack.