Old News

When does a story cross the line from being news worthy, to beating a dead horse? When does one's fifteen minutes officially end? Depends on who you talk to. For some, mention of the war is conversation suicide. They are numb to the daily death tolls, helicopter crashes, and suicide bombings. Those people, however, have the convenience of being distant from the reality of the subject. Ask an Iraqi. They don't get tired of hearing about the war. They never bore of death tolls, or suicide bombing stats, because there is a chance that a loved one was killed today, and a chance that they could be kidnapped, tortured, and killed tomorrow. So for them, war talk is nothing to be forgotten, because for them, your conversation suicide is their way of life.
That's why so many stories have been written about Shaquanda Cotton.
For me, and many like me, life in these United States is a war zone. There is an unspoken battle being fought everyday. Baby Cotton is just a catalyst to a movement: a spark to a flame: a battle in a war; a symbol to a revolution- representing the injustices performed against people of color every single day. Some outsiders understandably doubt the seriousness of the situation. Even some within the corrupt system fail to recognize the trap they are in, and the atrocious acts against their own. Perhaps years of bondage has instilled a sense of complacency, like one serving a long jail sentence accepting his fate, or a lion in a cage, forgetting his roots and the taste of freedom. I, however, will never mistake this Matrix for Reality. We are kings, born of queens, with royalty in our veins, and I am poised to forcefully claim my throne. My people lay wasted in bondage, but not for long. Let this be a call to all who understand me, and a warning to the peoples and systems of oppression- The time has come to arise.
Shaquanda Cotton is free. One down,- one hundred and forty nine million, nine hundred ninety nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine to go.

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