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Audible Audio
Published January 16, 2024
"Any anchor, if too big, too heavy, will drown you. Forget regret. It is a selfish act that annihilates the self. Instead, give way to remorse, which recognizes that there is a wronged person on the other side of the act, the one who, all this time, has been in the room with you. The wife on the boat. The widow of the Russian judge, now tending to the children alone. The person across the table in the taberna. Remorse is specific, it is demanding, it relies not on counterfactuals but actual selves, says: "I did this to you, and I'm sorry. Please forgive me."
"If Marchell were not always playing defense—if he had the privilege that Annie has— might he ask, Who did you hurt after your injury? What price did you pay for it? And when he hears the answer, which is nowhere near twenty years' hard time, how might he feel? Marchell might sit awake at night, a longtime habit, his mind jumping over puddles, trying to puzzle out how suicide sickness in a white woman is treated with pity, while in a Black man it is viewed as innate aggression.
Why is your self-destructive behavior forgivable, when mine is not? Is there no culpability in that? Look at you, a thirty-some-years-old white woman with a couple head injuries and all those tools to cope, and then look at me, a nine-year-old Black kid without any idea of what's happened to me or how to keep from drowning in it. A leads to B leads to C, but we never think past C in this country. What in you has yet to be criminalized that in me has been locked away? Who keeps you, cares and at work and in societal institutions, so that all is forgiven?"