A dirty rotten shame.

I feel helpless. About doing anything significant. About the senseless killing of black people. By the police. Sure, I could march in protest. Like throngs did in Dallas and elsewhere last night. In fact, one of the protests was in St. Paul. Less than an hour from my home. So I could have joined. But didn’t. Because I won’t make a difference. The best I can do is to write. About the sad state of racial affairs in America. Amazing. How different my life would be. If I were black, instead of white. I am more or less privileged. Because of the color of my skin. To be black means to be singled out. To be profiled. I’ve seen it. From the sidelines. Throughout my life.  Especially when I lived in Florida. In the turbulent 1960s. But racial discrimination is still rampant. All over America. Even in so-called liberal Minnesota. I have absolutely no doubt, that many of the killings by police officers would not have occurred.  Had the encounters beer with whites instead of blacks. Yes, it’s a dirty rotten shame. A stain on the fabric of America. --Jim Broede