Me.

Me, who hears your opinions.

Me, who hears your dogma and certainty and outrage.

Me, who watches as you assign blame for this nation’s devolution.

Me, who observes every time you side with oppression and power over the oppressed and powerless.

Me, who sees the objects of your wrath:  the people with names and faces and value in God’s eyes; the people you used to care about, but have dehumanized now. They are …

Me.

Me, who reads the articles and watches the videos you share. Propaganda pieces created by people that you think are your peers, your tribe, your team.

Me, who knows that propaganda machine doesn’t care about me and they don’t care about you. That giant, cruel machine is effective and determined to divide, to incite rage, to invent targets, and justify the incited anger at those targets. It seeks to ruin and slander and win and destroy innocent lives.

Me, who reads your posts and articles and watches the videos you share, and with each one I feel the blows.

Because you participate in the machine, you willingly pass on the division and slander and hatred and rage …

To me.

Did you know that I am your target?

Maybe you did. Maybe you don’t care. Maybe I’m naive to have expected you to stop short of aiming attacks on people you know. Not that that makes it better, because it doesn’t, but it could be understandable, I guess, to not fully realize the destruction of your target on the ground when your launch is from an aircraft.

In the last ten years, you … who used to be so loving and caring and a peacemaker and a team player by nature … your aggression emerged. Quickly. So quickly. Years ago, during the pandemic, I remember, it approached militancy.

Now we’re under militancy by our own nation, and you defend it. Of course you do. You made that decision years ago.

You, who I never knew to be like that, ever. Somebody, somewhere got your ear and heart and soul and changed you.

You, who were my classmates and coworkers.

You, who were my friends and neighbors.

You, who were my sisters and brothers in Christ. Or maybe you never were. Maybe you were just very good at acting.

You are different now. Now, of all times. Now, when so many are struggling with drastically changed lives and looming uncertainty.

Now, when the world needs help, support, reliability, and a reason to expect a better future. Now, when we need rest and a reprieve, you release this onto us. Now, when we desperately require caring and compassionate and loving people …

You give us this new person you have become.

Now, when I needed you most.

Because I, too, am seeking my footing. As life changed abruptly and drastically during the rise of this dictatorship, I, too, went tumbling in the whirlwind of upheaval.

I needed you. Just like all people depend on those they believe care about them. Now more than ever.

I needed you to be who I thought you were. I needed to count on some people. Not all people, but some people. And I can, but those numbers of people are small — very, very small. I thought you were one of them — a person whom I could know, beyond-a-doubt, no matter how difficult or crazy the world became, would be good.

This has taken a toll I didn’t anticipate. You, not being who you used to be. You have caused me to trip and somersault and tumble in ways I have never tumbled before. You were part of a rock of sorts, beneath my feet. And it turns out, because you chose the route you chose … you are no longer a part of the rock beneath my feet.

You left who you were. You are no longer there. I never dreamed you would be one of those who would go rogue; who would turn inhumane and hate-filled; who would go frighteningly militant. I thought you would be here, always. I thought you would be godly and good, always.

But you are gone.

You are over there, hating at …

Me.

You are over there, fighting against …

Me.

Your words and militancy have found their target in …

Me.

You thought you were sending out your judgement and condemnation to people that you would never have to see hit by your missiles of destruction?

Me. They hit me.

Maybe you knew that and wanted that. Maybe you didn’t know. I say you should have known. Maybe you are so caught up with those voices that fill your ears and mind that you lost self-awareness. You certainly lost other-awareness. You stopped being concerned about who, exactly, you are targeting, and if, it is right even, this thing that you do now.

I don’t know if you will ever again be the person I used to know.

I am not angry. I haven’t been angry. I have been very, very, very sad for years now. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, at first, that was making me so sad. I knew I could handle all that the pandemic thrust on us. But when that passed and you didn’t return to who you used to be, and instead kept going on that road of hatred you chose … I was cast down to a place that was distinctly unique; one I had never ever experienced before.

But now I know what caused my despair:

People I believed in, people I trusted, people I admired and loved and respected and appreciated …

Hate.

You hate me.

And you are gone. You are no longer where you used to be. Nowhere near. I feel in my spirit that you are not coming back. I have lost you forever.

And that …

Makes me sad. So very, very, very sad.

You probably aren’t, because you have found a new power. You are strong and mighty, alright. You have it: Power. I know that firsthand, because I feel its effects. Your power to hit your target is real. You hit …

Me.