Love Trumps hate
An open letter to the guy who threw a rock through my window:
First off, what took you so long? After all, I’ve had that placard taped up there, in full public view, since the summer of 2016. “Love Trumps Hate” — it was a Democratic campaign slogan back then, and I may even have believed it at the time. At the very least, I hadn’t thought it a statement most people would be eager to argue with.
But your hurled rock, almost eloquent in its simplicity, was the perfect rebuttal. I can imagine your thought process: “Love trumps hate, you say? I beg to differ.” Point taken.
Second, thanks so much for not also attacking my car, whose bumper stickers practically shriek with anti-fascist rhetoric that must surely drive you mad with (largely impotent) rage. Either you’re showing admirable restraint, or you’ve run out of rocks, or — the most likely scenario — you assumed from all the dents and scrapes already there that somebody’d beaten you to the punch. Either way, I’m grateful.
Finally, you shouldn’t worry that you’ve hurt my feelings, or scared me, or even made me all that angry. I know very well what a lucky, privileged life I have. As, all across America and around the world, synagogues, churches, and mosques are burned to the ground; as innocent people are harassed, attacked, mown down by machine guns, all in the howling name of unconstrained bigotry; I know one thing very well: a broken window is a petty thing, as loud but as trivial as a three-year-old’s tantrum.
Nancy Coughlin, Butte