By Neel Anil Panicker
Our lives matter, all lives matter—black, white, brown, blue, or whatever shade of vibgyoric pigmentation is one’s skin colouration.
All that high falutin moralistic, humanistic idealism went down the window when David saw before his very eyes, his cousin die a slow, agonising death, struggling and gasping for every single breath even as a uniformed city cop watched in sadistic glee, his knee pinned to the man’s neck.
That day David learnt a cruel lesson: he may be living in the ‘greatest country in the world; the leader of the free world, but he needs permission even to breathe because in America some lives don’t really matter.
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