Free I Have Chosen to Stay and Fight by Margaret Cho

they don't want to have anything to do with you.
    Brewer maintains his innocence, which is certainly possible. However, he sports numerous tattoos celebrating Aryan power. He even has a large image of a black man hanging from a tree emblazoned on his arm. You can bet he doesn't ever go to the showers without a number of guards flanking him. I feel sorry for him, that hate should have consumed him so much that it isn't enough having an emblem of hate emblazoned permanently on his flesh, he had to act out that stupidshit on his arm like it was the story of his life. Like it was fucking directions telling him what to do. What an asshole. And who the fuck would agree to do such a tattoo in the first place?
    Tattooing is an ancient warrior art, with a kind of infernal beauty that few understand, and fewer take as seriously as they should. What self-respecting tattoo artist would say, "Oh, okay. Lynching. Gotcha!" Maybe I have no idea of the array of Aryan tattoos readily available. Maybe Brewer's tattoo of the hanging man is one you can point to on the wall, right next to MOM or the anchor or the playing cards. Man's ruin.
    The fact is, our nation bringing slaves here from Africa was the biggest hate crime of all. Then, when the slaves were freed, there wasn't anywhere for them to go. Then came the reign of terror begun by the Ku Klux Klan that never really ended. And then there's the fact that none of this stuff is taught in American History, at least not in detail. It's skimmed over, to get from the Revolutionary War to landing on the moon as quickly as possible .
    Then there are the laws against homosexuality. Then there's the Asian exclusion act. Then there's the internment of Japanese Americans. I'm not even going to talk about Guantánamo. And then there is the first American hate crime: taking this land from the Native Americans.
    We can keep it up forever. Hate Crime Trivial Pursuit. There are more than enough hate crimes to play a decent round. I'd hoped to play it with Cornel West, bell hooks, Harvey Milk, Martin Luther King Jr. or even just a cool gang of ACLU lawyers.
    I just want to love everyone. I don't care if that sounds stupid. I want to love everyone.
    dear richard pryor
           Dear Mr. Pryor,
           We share the same birthday week. We get name-checked together on E!—it happens at the same time, along with Woody Allen and Walt Disney, but I like you the best. What can I say to thank you? How can you put laughter and salvation and the transcendental power to forget race, even for just a moment, the truth of the human condition made hilarious because of its fearlessness, the eternal power of your voice and the gratitude that I have for all you gave me and the world—in a box? Is there one big enough? I need a big-ass bow on it and shit. Not one you stick on, but actually get a ribbon and tie on, with your finger in it making the bow old-school correct.
           How can this girl send you a gift that is worthy of my love for you? Because my love is big. There is nothing that I can think of in the material world valuable enough that would represent the size of this love. So here it is.
    LOVE.
    From, Margaret
           I will hang on to the receipt in case you want to exchange it for something else. I don't know, you might prefer D. L. Hughley's love, or Gene Wilder's love. I am just leaving you some options. I wouldn't be offended in the least.
           Mr. Pryor, I met you one time at this big benefit for some shit. The Hollywood players love the benefit even though we are not sure to whose benefit they be for, but they do benefit those that need publicity, so there we are. You took my hand and you looked me in the eye. We said nothing, and that moment was everything. Paul McCartney kissed me that night too, told me I was a pretty girl, and I was elated, but I forgot about him when I saw you. I remember running to get to you, and then I was before you, my knees shaking, and hands