275-28: Black and White and Green in Québec;

In my opinion, La Fête Nationale  tragedy shines light on the mindset of the organizers with regards to the intersecting issues of race and the environment. In particular, it unveils how white french Québec grapples with  its changing climate and evolving identity. Within the limited  boundaries of the pure-laine vision of a sustainable future, it is clear that the  desired transition to a low-carbon economy will not object to the unabashed sequestration of energy from melanin bodies. This green vision binds these black bodies to low-status work on behalf of the environment. The “forever-immigrants”, many born on this land, in this environment, can never fully rid themselves of the brand of “Les Autres, là”  burned onto their skin with white-hot iron.  This blurry condemnation has been written in quebecois prose onto black bodies for centuries, to the point where ink and grit collude to usurp skin and culture. To what extent does the  green imagination of the white Quebecois and the white Canadian couple greenhouse gas reduction with the subordination of black and brown peoples?

Black Internet is well versed in decoding the care-free gesturing of matantes but is it not their nieces and nephews, (the organizers) that whisper the racist rigaudon?

“On a mis le nègre au travail pour l’environnement,

Mais l’environnement du nègre,

On l’a négligé volontairement!

Vive la développement durable!”

This is organic racism clothed in eco-friendliness. This is white sustainability. A sustainability where what stands the test of time is not  the well-being of the planet and the people who populate it, but the tense relation between those who benefit from unjust decisions and those who are forced to carry the weight of those same decisions. 

Mon cher Quebec, you can paint di ting green…but the issue remains black and white. Ya nuh foolin’ we.

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275-27: Untitled

We leave tomorrow,she says, by noon, in order to harvest enough bullets before dark.  I flinch.  I hate harvesting, taxing on both the knees and  the blood.  Plus, by then, baby will be starving, our few supplies depleted and frankly  the bartering of bullets alone won’t fill our stomachs. Still, I follow her, like we followed stars when there were stars. Early morning, we pack what few belongings we have, steal the ones we lack and set forth at high noon. This particular sun is vengeful and the other grounders  find shelter in cement cavities and abandoned catacombs. Warily we  venture above,vulnerable.  The heat curses our trio heading towards the Fields, meandering around metal and bone carcasses.  So hot. Heat drums incessantly at my neck.  Sweat and soul release, my feet forget.  I drop to my knees and look at She who carries baby.  They haven’t realized that I stopped, and I can’t  don’t tell them. I’m fucking done.  I can’t.  I love you both.  I love you too Sun and I am so sorry. Forgive me. I reach down into my tattered pocket; a bullet.  Probably worth a dozen seeds on the line but that it is not this bullet’s purpose.  Genuflect, I force it to the back of my mouth. And press. Till I hear crack, till I crack.  She turns, and her face is frantic. She puts baby on the floor and her eyes stay on me, on my body as it freezes in burning ataxia.  I cry no tears. She beckons no words.  I give my body up to the essence…I..I..

 

Hello Sun. I am yours now.