Violence in America

darnold1975

Dear World, Please Don’t Give Up on Us: A Love Letter From a Blue Dot in the Red Sea

“Hope isn’t blind. It’s stubborn. It keeps standing up even when the world keeps trying to knock it sideways.” 

-A Blue Dot American Who Refuses to Sit Down

 Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Tell the ancestors to clock in for overtime. Lord help us, y’all. The United States is going through it. And by “it,” I mean the kind of national meltdown that makes you look around and say, “Surely this is a deleted scene from a dystopian comedy that never made it to Netflix because the plot was too unrealistic.” Yet here we are. Living it. Breathing it. And trying not to scream into a pothole on I‑59.

To the rest of the world:

Please don’t give up on us. I promise you the majority of Americans are not standing behind the chaos, cruelty, or conspiracy‑soaked nonsense that has taken over our headlines. Most of us are exhausted, horrified, and Googling “how to apply for dual citizenship” at 2 a.m.while clutching a heating pad and a prayer. We see the instability. We see the authoritarian vibes. We see the white‑nationalist cosplay that keeps popping up like mold in a damp apartment. And we’re fighting it loudly, creatively, and with the kind of determination only a country built on protest can muster.

Yes, we know our leadership looks like a fever dream. Some people in power are making decisions that feel like they were written by a committee of raccoons who found a bottle of expired cough syrup. And our country is being run by a pube signature. Some are facing public scrutiny over their past associations. They include the widely reported connections between political figures and Jeffrey Epstein’s social circle. And the public has every right to demand transparency, accountability, and the full truth. People across the political spectrum have been calling for the release of all relevant documents. Because sunlight is still the best disinfectant. Meanwhile, the rest of us are over here like, “Hey world, please don’t judge us by the loudest people in the room. We’re trying to get the remote back from the uncle who keeps changing the channel to chaos.”

To our allies abroad:

We still see you as family. We still believe in cooperation, democracy, and global peace. We still want to stand shoulder‑to‑shoulder with you. And not stomp around the world stage like a toddler who missed naptime. Please keep talking to your governments about ways to support democracy here. Not because we’re helpless. But because democracy is a team sport. And right now, our team captain keeps wandering off the field.

About the weaponized religion situation. Listen. I grew up in the Deep South. I know about Jesus. I know his work. I know his vibe. And I can tell you with full confidence that Jesus would be flipping tables so fast in Mississippi right now that he’d qualify for CrossFit. The loudest “Christian” voices down here aren’t preaching love, compassion, or justice. They’re preaching fear, control, and purity culture. Which is ironic considering how many of their own scandals keep popping up like whack‑a‑moles at the county fair.

Not all Christians are like this. Some are kind, loving, justice‑oriented people who actually read the parts of the Bible about caring for the oppressed. But in Mississippi I can count those folks on one hand and still have fingers left to hold my sweet tea.

And for the record. I embrace all religions. All ethnicities. All genders. All sexual orientations. All cultures. Except the ones built on cruelty, control, or harming children. If you come to this country with love in your heart and respect for human dignity, you’re welcome at my table. I’ll even make you cornbread.

If you are brown, seeking asylum, fleeing violence, or simply trying to give your babies a better life. You are welcome in the America I believe in. The real America. The one with a heartbeat. The one that remembers its own immigrant roots even when our politicians pretend they sprouted straight out of the soil like turnips.

The America I love has always been a patchwork quilt of cultures, languages, and stories. And it has been stitched together by people who crossed oceans, deserts, and borders because hope was louder than fear. That America still exists. It’s bruised, tired, and currently being held hostage by people who think compassion is a weakness. But it’s still here. And it’s not going anywhere.

We just have to clean our governing house first. And Lord when I say “clean,” I don’t mean a light dusting. I mean roll up your sleeves. Put on the yellow gloves. And open every window because something in here died in 1987. And nobody ever dealt with it. The corruption runs deep. Deep like “you’re gonna need a shovel, a headlamp, and maybe a priest” deep. We’re not afraid of hard work. We built this country on hard work. We can rebuild it the same way.

And let me say this plainly. Donald Trump does not speak for us. Not for the majority. Not for the heart of this country. Not for the people who still believe in democracy, dignity, and basic human decency. Millions of Americans across races, religions, genders, and backgrounds are fighting every single day to protect what’s left of our democratic institutions. They’re marching, voting, organizing, educating, and refusing to be bullied into silence. We’re not giving up. We’re not backing down. We’re not letting authoritarianism take root in the soil our ancestors bled to cultivate.

The heart of the United States will return. I believe that with everything in me. Not because things look good. Because they don’t. Not because the path is easy. Because it isn’t. But because the soul of this country has always been bigger than the people trying to tear it apart. We’ve survived wars, depressions, pandemics, corruption, and more than one leader who thought the Constitution was optional reading. We’ll survive this too. The real America is the one built on courage, diversity, and stubborn hope. And it is still here. Still fighting. Still glowing like a blue dot in a sea of red hats. Thanks for reading! And Fuck Donald Trump, ICE, and MAGA.

Affirmation: I glow in the dark. I stand in the storm. And I refuse to let chaos speak louder than my courage. My voice, my vote, and my hope are stronger than any tyrant’s tantrum.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

A Life, A Name, A Nation’s Failure: Renee Nicole Good

“Some stories break you. Some stories change you. And some stories demand you stand up, speak up, and refuse to look away. Renee Nicole Good deserved to grow old.”

— Dana, This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today’s story is heavy, holy, and heartbreaking. And it deserves to be told without flinching.

There are moments when the world tilts. Moments when a headline hits you in the chest because you know this isn’t just news. This is someone’s daughter. Someone’s mother. Someone who laughed, cried, loved, lived, and deserved to grow old.

And this time, her name was Renee Nicole Good. She was a 37‑year‑old mother of three who was shot and killed by an ICE agent in Minneapolis on January 7, 2026, as reported by CBS News and NBC News. She was unarmed. She was shot three times including once in the head. And it was the wound that killed her according to the Hennepin County Medical Examiner’s report, cited by MPR News.

I didn’t know Renee personally. But I know the shape of injustice. I know the sound of a system cracking under its own weight. I know what it feels like to be trapped in a place where the people with power insist they’re “keeping you safe” while your body tells you otherwise.

When I read about Renee and about how the fatal shot was to her head. And about how the agent claimed “self‑defense,” about how the body‑camera footage released by ICE shows her backing away when the shots were fired. I felt that familiar ache. The one that says, This should not have happened. The one that says, This keeps happening. The one that says, How many more?

The world saw the moment she died. Millions watched the video, replayed it, argued about it. But Renee was more than the last seconds of her life. She was a whole human being. She was a mother. A woman trying to survive. Someone who deserved to be seen in her fullness. And not just her final frame. Another woman gone. Another family shattered. Another official statement claiming “self‑defense,” as reported by The Associated Press. Another community calling bullshit.

I’ve spent enough time in psychiatric, legal, and medical systems to know how quickly institutions protect themselves. How fast the narrative shifts. How easily a person becomes a problem instead of a person. But Renee wasn’t a problem. She was a life.

When I say her name, Renee Nicole Good, I feel the heaviness of it. The way a name becomes a headline. The way a headline becomes a debate. And the way a debate becomes noise. But behind that noise is a family who will never be the same. Children who will grow up with a before and after. A community that will remember the day everything changed.

And I think about how often marginalized people are told to “comply,” “calm down,” “cooperate,” “not escalate,” “not resist,” “not move,” “not breathe wrong.” And still they die. Grief like this doesn’t fade when the headlines do. It lingers. It haunts. It becomes part of the landscape of a community. And it should. Forgetting is how injustice survives.

Renee deserves better than to be forgotten. She deserves better than to be reduced to a political talking point. She deserves better than to be a momentary outrage. She deserves to be remembered as a woman whose life mattered.

When I read that her death was ruled a homicide, even if the system refuses to call it a crime, I felt that familiar sting. The one that says, We see what happened. We just refuse to name it. And when I read that she was unarmed. And that she posed no threat, and that the fatal shot was to her head, I felt the anger rise. Not the wild, chaotic anger. The quiet kind. The kind that sits in your chest like a stone. The kind that says, This is not justice. This is not safety. This is not okay.

I don’t have a neat ending for this. There isn’t one. But I can say this, Renee, your life mattered. Your story matters. Your name will not be swallowed by the noise. To her family, I am holding you in the softest part of my heart. To her children, I hope the world becomes gentler for you than it was for your mother. To her community, keep speaking, keep fighting, keep remembering. And to anyone reading this who feels the weight of it, you’re not imagining it. You’re not overreacting. You’re not alone.

Some stories demand to be told. Some losses demand to be honored. Some names demand to be spoken. Renee Nicole Good. We see you. We remember you. We will not look away. Thanks for reading! And from the bottom of my heart I say, “Fuck ICE!”

Affirmation: I honor Renee by telling the truth, holding the grief, and refusing to let her name fade.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife