Voices
So far, Deathly Hallows is, to me, about the divide between the living, the dead, and the living who have seen death. Harry and I are part of an exclusive club: Those under 30 who have experienced death. And when I say “experienced,” I don’t mean “witnessed.” I mean really, really felt it, all the way through.
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I understand the connections between the violence that leads to police shootings and the violence that leads people to starve themselves. I know with complete certainty that diet culture is a manifestation of the state’s expectation of assimilation and of social control, both of which are manifestations of institutional violence.
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Suicidality is a strange thing. Sometimes you think you’ve shaken it off, but it’s actually still there, quietly brewing under the surface until something triggers it.
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It’s like the writers and producers sat around and said, “Let’s put all the most f*cked up recent cultural references in one season and be the most forward, innovative, social justice show out there!” It’s literally the exploitation and voyeurism of our pain on a platter for the world to gawk at and consume.
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Even though in the U.S., abortion is a safe and legal option, conservative lawmakers in my state have made sure that among the hundreds of regulations restricting access to legal abortion, restricting the mere mention of it in public schools is up at the tippy top.
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As moms and dads, we probably don’t talk directly about rape to kids, at least not until they’re older. But we’re still sending messages about sex and consent all the time. Because of that, we need to make sure we’re not teaching them some very dangerous lessons, even if just by accident.
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While I would like to think that I paused for a minute or two to think about what it means to be American, I was mostly focused on looking forward to the fireworks show.
But all of that changed for me last year. Three weeks before the Fourth of July, my husband became a citizen of the United States.
