The People in Violet Light

Written by Rebecca M. Bell

The People in Violet Light

There are those who sneer at the purple revolution.
They say it is a trick of color, a mere mixing of red and blue.
They say it is a refuge for the guilty, an escape hatch for those who lit the fire and now wish to stand by the water.
They say it is softness. Compromise. Amnesty.

They are wrong.

Purple is not forgiveness.
Purple is not a pardon.
Purple is the color of bruises, and the bruise always remembers the strike.

Purple is the twilight hour, when the old order trembles and the new presses at the edges.
Purple is the horizon that does not belong to kings or presidents, but to the people who look toward it.
Purple is the light that leaks through when we finally rise together.

We do not forget who led us here.
We do not absolve the architects of cruelty, the profiteers of suffering, the hands that tightened the noose.
Their names are known; their actions are recorded; their debts to humanity will remain unpaid until justice has its day.

But while they divide us, they dine.