Injustice Wears Ever The Same Harsh Face

Our Task, Then Always, Is To Challenge The Apparent Forms Of Reality-that Is, The Fixed Manner And Values Of The Few, And To Struggle With It Until It Reveals Its Mad, Vari-implicated Chaos, Its False Face, And So On Until It Surrenders Its Insight, Its Truth.

That Which We Remember Is, More Often Than Not, That Which We Would Like To Have Been; Or That Which We Hope To Be. Thus Our Memory And Our Identity Are Ever At Odds; Our History Ever A Tale Told By Inattentive Idealists.

Many Of The Rites Of Passage, Those Rituals Of Growing Up Found In Our Society, Are In The Form Of Such Comic, Practical Joking Affairs--which We Ignore In The Belief That They Possess No Deeper Significance. Yet It Is Precisely In Their Being Regarded As Unimportant That They Take On Importance. For In Them We Ritualize And Dramatize Attitudes Which Contradict And Often Embarrass The Sacred Values Which We Proclaim Through Our Solemn Ceremonies And Rituals Of Nationhood.

Had The Price Of Looking Been Blindness, I Would Have Looked.

I Am Nobody But Myself.