Dylann Roof grew up like I did.
So many stories I could tell. In some ways I both recoil from and feel so much commonality with this life still; these were my people. You can leave it behind as I did and yet there is this invisible rope of shared fate that always connects you only because your early experiences bind you and that vinculum takes a lifetime to completely unravel.
I can understand why the people around Roof did nothing. Southern underclass white culture is full of big boasts that never come to fruition, that are never even attempted — both evil and aspirational. A friend of mine avers when I was 10 or 11: “We had the niggers in slavery once, we can put them right back in.”
I sit down on the couch at my dad’s place. I feel something poking into my bony butt. It’s a .38 pistol. I take it out of the couch and put it on the counter. There is nothing unusual about this.
Other friends of mine wear to high school shoddily homemade t-shirts with the slogan “KKK – Kool Kids Klub” on them. A group of black students nearly beats the both of them to a bloody mist. They are never seen in school again.
My sister drops out of school at twelve years old. She’s a heavy drug user by thirteen. She’s pregnant by a notorious area violent felon and drug dealer by fifteen.
Everyone you know nearly talks about the heroic acts they will undertake and the Homeric (except they have no idea who Homer is) deeds they will do in the inevitable and much-needed cleansing race war.
I could go on. Oh could I.
These are the people without a culture, the people that the world has left behind, where nothing matters and nothing makes sense and each day is unconnected to the last and unrelated to the future. There is no direction because direction is meaningless when you have no possibility of going anywhere worth going.
This is why they did nothing: they are and I was surrounded by penthouse paupers boasting about their great and terrible deeds, all built on smoke and lies.
A former friend of mine from where I grew up said years after we both left that he still had a lot of Lake City in him. Even though I did not, I understood what he meant. As I understand these people. I am no longer a part of them, but they are a part of me.