Lorissia R. Autery from Midfield, L.S.U. Hospital internship - we did not....

WE DID NOT BOMB 16 STREET BAPTIST CHURCH



Fall of 1981, Shortly after our arrival from Europe to New England, good town folks informed us that we are white. Few months later witnessing squalor of Boston's ghettos , my "all soul" wife cried with tears, questioning moral ambiguity of our migration. Further into the game we were simply amazed by brutally obvious wording and clockwork precision of the racial divide in this country.
Yet later I told one black man - Do you hear my accent? I'm black as you are... At least you know it. - answered he. But both of us, despite superficial understanding, we were uncomfortable with that somehow clumsy projection.

 
Living on our desolate island, wherever we went, we simply started believe that it will take a millennium to heal monumental trauma of being corralled, captured, chained and thrown to the dark under-deck for month long journey across the violent ocean. It must have been encrypted in the genetic or other code to carry on for hundred of generations to come (it's hard to understand tears and cheers on the outcome of recent election - new president simply is not compatriot of the jubilants in this crucial department). Victimizers as usual sublimate their regrets or lack thereof into some free floating hate that carries for generations as well. You may call it "whitewash". This was our definition.
Little we knew how hard price we were to pay for throwing ourselves into that unresolved landscape, for being from opposite side of yet the same western civilization, race of explorers and exploiters. There are generalizations, profiling, stereotypes and rules of history but they just may manifest themselves fine in confrontations of two people - one on one as following the most primitive script.

 
Midnight, June 24, 2007. I am on the side of my daughter Blanka in Obstetric emergency bay in University Hospital in New Orleans. We await a doctor, a nurse says she will come. And come she does. She approached slowly with almost triumphant satisfaction. She was the same age as my daughter. 31. She's radiating that specific laid back confidence that's not justified by experience or knowledge. I am doctor Autery - she introduced herself with hardly masked sinister smile - she lived for that moment, she knew that I took her for another nurse when she deliberately walked toward the bay.

 
The fate was sealed in that moment. Autery's oral delivery was phony, movement like practiced in front of the mirror. I remember it all but put no weight to it then. Autery missed the most obvious symptoms and set a stage for the most horrifying death of our brilliant daughter, left for the dead in the middle of modern hospital, downtown of million people agglomeration. 30 hours of agony without any help in sight.

 
Everybody was born with a handicap even the perfect setting for growth of human being would be disadvantage because it would be so detached from common experience. One has to believe in personal responsibility. It was not a slave merchant that killed Blanka Teresa Flisiuk Peridot and her son Clancy. Buffoons of medical profession almost grant themselves an allowance to kill few people in the course of training. Perverse present state of political correctness certainly gives even more leeway to black aspirant. Camaraderie of doctors will go long way to cover things up. They rather pat on the shoulder Autery when something traumatic as someone else's death happened to her.

 
It happened to be our daughter.We did not bomb 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Autery's hometown. She learned to play the game there, no excellence but sole leverage of coveted name "doctor" was her aim. And, damn, revenge too. Farce of face values in now days society provides protection to her and others of her ilk willing to play the game. That's how she with full support of hypocrites of both races, reached a state where her bell curve melted ignorance and evil into one. Full integration.
She wouldn't meet family in a hospital, she announced Blanka's death in a the same telemarketer's voice - on the phone.
Autery, then intern, is not a subject of this writing, she's has no fraction of Blanka's intelligence. As we speak she enters her MY SPACE and drops lols. She thinks that nothing yet happened to her.

michal flisiuk