Here's our reminder that the horror we experienced after last weekend's shooting in Tuscon is a feeling some people encounter every day. The violence against women in Juarez is unbelievably horrifying, and even more disheartening because of the unwillingness of authorities to respond to much of it.
In moments like these I can't help but recognize my comfort, my privilege. I also call myself a "poet and activist," but what does that mean? Writing poetry about women who are being murdered far from my safe, comfortable home?
I can dedicate the poems I write today to Susana Chavez and other activists and artist brave enough to put their lives at risk while they pursue justice. Still, I feel so far removed from the pursuit of justice as they embody it. For Susana Chavez, simply being a woman in Juarez was enough to put herself in danger, and she was brave enough to speak out against the violence happening around her.
It makes me ask myself -- how far am I willing to go beyond my comfort zone to make a difference for somebody else?
How far will you go?