Another Minneapolis Murder, Another Day in America
On mourning, finding meaning, and marking a moment in time.
My son’s name is Alex. So I’m intimately familiar with what that name means.
Defender of the People
Protector of Mankind
And that’s what Alex Pretti was doing: protecting a woman who’d been shoved down by ICE.
May his memory be a blessing? Yes. But also a bastion: “a person, place, or institution that strongly defends, protects, or upholds particular principles, traditions, or beliefs.”
Our government is lying to us. At every level.
Alex was not there to offend. He was there to defend—his neighbors, his city, his values, OUR values.
He didn’t have to die for this. His name shouldn’t have to be a hashtag. His friends and family shouldn’t have to multiply their mourning—balancing grieving the man they personally knew and the public’s reaction to his murder.
Alex’s death is a flashpoint, but it’s not an anomaly. State-sanctioned violence is par for the course in these united/divided/united/divided states.
Blood is on our ancestral hands, but as long as blood runs through our veins—we can DO something.
This won’t “all blow over” because it never has. Temporary reprieves are our reward for pushing back against oppression.
These are “thin veil” times.
Refining times. Defining times.
Despair if you must, then prepare.
Wallow if you must, then work.
Hide if you must, then help.
My brother was a good, good man, like Alex. And like Alex, he died by gun violence. Though he pulled his own trigger, it wasn’t really his decision—the septic injustice of institutionalized abuse was the cause.
But one gift he gave? The title of his suicide note.
Hope
Yes, the Word document on his boxy, beige 1999 PC desktop was titled simply—Hope.
Even in tragedy, Hope
Even in heartbreak, Hope
Even against all odds, Hope
Why? It’s better than the alternative.
Take good, sweet, kind, gentle, strong, compassionate care of yourself and others my friends.
I love you. And I love us.
Collectively. Humanity.