This is a very serious disease* so I gladly accept the “bucket challenge”
*My heart goes out to all those who struggle with ALS but I am, of course, talking about the disease of apathy. If (and hopefully when) Michael Brown’s killer is brought to justice and convicted of 1st degree murder, it still won’t prevent this from happening again. We cannot accept this as the status quo. We MUST continue the fight at the ballot box, in the media and by working to create systemic change. I’m not naive to the dirty politics (redistricting, voter ID requirements, etc) that will try to prevent us from our goal. But I refuse to give up hope. My “bullet bucket challenge” is not about pointing fingers and it’s not about being angry. Every shell casing in that bucket represents the life of someone who fought and died in the goal for civil rights and human dignity. As a member of law enforcement (yes I really am a reserve sheriff) I will not stand idly by while others violate civil and human rights under the cover of authority and I will insist that other good cops rise to the same standard as well. As a black man I will demand more from myself and my community. I will not allow outsiders to co-opt our struggle in order to commit violence in our name. I’m channeling my outrage into action so I no longer feel powerless. It’s not about black or white. It’s not about rich or poor. It’s about us vs. them. There are more of us — from all races, genders and identities — then there will ever be of them. And we will be victorious”
"The hottest places in hell are reserved for those who, in times of great moral crisis, maintain their neutrality"
Emma raised an eyebrow at the various hand-made globes that Mary Margaret had brought home to grade. She thought it was a pretty silly assignment, but then again, her elementary career had been… sporadic, to put it kindly.
There was the one student who’d used a used a large styrofoam ball so that he could demonstrate the numerous interior levels of the earth’s core. That one was kind of neat. Even the center was marked “45 minutes from Storybrooke (and everywhere else) at freefall.”
Then again, there was the glitter-highlighted one with multiple shades of pink highlighting the continental borders. “A credit to her sex,” Emma remarked sardonically.
Mary Margaret glared. “Maybe those were all the colors that she had!”
Emma shrugged. “Better you than me. I’d have trouble seeing past that silliness.
"See you later. I’m going over to Granny’s for a bit." Maybe Regina would be there, she thought. Regina wouldn’t wear pink. Maybe black. Or red. Something strong. Unaware of her response, Emma licked her lips.