falwell

Jerry Falwell is dead. When I saw the news on CNN, I didn't initially understand why that was important to me. But it felt important. It was not because of his protracted obituary coverage, which the networks accord only to famous people. I mean, sure, he was well known, and as a follower of American politics, I knew who he was, his brand of morality and politics and the degree of his influence over issues of import to American society. But as a non-American, his actions never directly affected my life in any appreciable way. The epicentre of his influence really emanated from heartland USA and for all intents and purposes, the scope and scale of his ministry revolved exclusively around American life and politics.

So why should this one man's passing, literally a thousand miles away, affect me? Because some things transcend geography; they creep between the faultlines of the human heart. And he was a personification of those things.

Prejudice, bigotry and hate. Insidious cancers that cultivate in the black agar of religion.

Jerry Falwell is dead. He was everything I think I almost became, but thankfully never will.

Like Julius Caesar, his final breath lingers. Vitriol. A curse upon generations.

(For those of you unfamiliar with the subject of this article, you can read his biography here.)