ice ice baby

Driving through the middle of Ohio this weekend, I see this truck. 

He has a scrolling electronic sign in the back window that reads:

ICE, ICE baby

2020-2024

F*ck around

2025-2029

Find out

Honestly, I gasped.

The visceral hate required to think, type, and hang those words so they are seen by everyone, everywhere you go, must be exhausting.

The level of racism proudly displayed is distressing proof of the thousands of people who drive by and silently cheer along from the safety of their own vehicles.

Does he drive that truck to church on Sunday?

Is there a pastor promoting this demonization of brown people that gives this person permission to preach this gospel?

Or is he unchurched? Is he moving through the world without the compass that a compassionate higher power provides?

I said a prayer for the immigrants who witness this message here and in other spaces. After the rush of adrenaline-fueled rage made its way out of my system, I just felt sorrow for the driver. 

Not an acceptance of the sentiment. No way. 

But a deep sadness for the person. 

Hate is a heavy burden. 

Anger is emptying.

Being closed to compassion diminishes connection.

And connection only with people who look like me is shallow.

To go back the first line of the original,

Alright, stop, collaborate and listen.

That seems a much better message to proudly put on display.