Cold Weather, Colder Hearts

I was watching the film that puts the words of James Baldwin into a cinematic experience, I Am Not Your Negro and I was struck by pretty much the same thing he was struck by: the fact that it is not a specific problem that Americans are guilty of when it comes to race, and for that matter to misogyny and labor relations and anything else, unless you zoom out and see that the problem is callousness towards ourselves and others, and from there we are able to manifest it in all sorts of abhorrent ways.

We are really, in a way that is disappointingly familiar, unable to simply let ourselves be what we are. We repress sexual identity, but we also repress the simple fact that we are sexual beings, which ensures that we will never accept anyone else: we cannot accept ourselves either. And so what I mean when I say cold hearts are our own. We have left ourselves out in the cold and so we have no pity for the shivering man on the corner, or in our own home

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