As autumn’s chill whispers closer, September arrives, painting the world in shorter days and longer shadows. The landscape begins its seasonal transformation, shedding its vibrant hues. Yet, September also holds a profound metaphor: the longer we hover around the edges of truth, the more obscured our vision becomes. Eventually, a moment arrives when we must cease our endless circling, turn our gaze from distraction, and step boldly into the light.

The crow, a creature of keen sight and direct flight, does not need to circle endlessly to know its path. It adjusts its course and flies straight toward its destination. Perhaps that is the quiet demand September makes of us: as the light diminishes, stop circling the truth. See clearly. Name what is there. And fly toward justice.

Long before “Stop Circling the Truth” became our invitation to examine the difficult realities around us, the visionary W. E. B. Du Bois used the image of the crow to offer a different way of seeing the world. His “As the Crow Flies” writings, which appeared across decades, delved into profound questions of knowledge, race, democracy, colonialism, and the human condition. For Du Bois, the crow offered a unique vantage point—a way to see beyond the boundaries and pathways constructed on the ground —often serving as a figurative device for “double consciousness,” the internal “twoness” experienced by African Americans.

America has never been short on information regarding its racial, social, and moral problems. We possess a wealth of books, documentaries, historical records, testimonies, statistics, memorials, court cases, speeches, sermons, and generations of lived experience.

The problem isn’t always a lack of truth.

Sometimes, the deeper issue is that we know the truth—and yet, we keep circling it.

We acknowledge injustice, debate it, commemorate it, apologize for it, write about it, preach about it, and then, inexplicably, find ourselves confronting the very same patterns once more.

A crow doesn’t choose the longest, most convoluted route simply because the terrain below is complicated.

It sees the destination and flies directly toward it.

Circling looks like:

• Talking endlessly about racial injustice without genuinely changing the systems that perpetuate it.
• Celebrating historical figures while conveniently ignoring the very conditions they fought so valiantly against.
• Calling for reconciliation without first confronting the uncomfortable truths that make reconciliation necessary.
• Demanding unity without addressing the deep-seated inequities that continue to divide us.
• Proclaiming “we’ve come a long way” while steadfastly refusing to ask who has been left behind in that journey.
• Having difficult conversations repeatedly, yet never allowing those conversations to lead to difficult, transformative decisions.
• Knowing precisely what is wrong but continually postponing the urgent actions that must be taken.

We may care deeply—and still be unwilling to fly directly toward the truth.

“The crow sees differently.”

If we can see differently, perhaps we can tell the truth differently.

This isn’t just about acknowledging facts, but about perceiving the underlying currents, the hidden connections, the systemic roots of injustice. It’s about seeing with a clarity that cuts through noise and denial, revealing deeper implications. When we truly see the intricate tapestry of injustice, our words gain a new power; we don’t just report, we reveal; we don’t just state, we illuminate the path forward, making the uncomfortable truth undeniable and the need for change urgent.

If we can tell the truth differently, perhaps we can act differently.

A truth told with such piercing clarity doesn’t just inform; it compels. It dismantles the excuses for inaction and ignites a different kind of resolve. When the truth is laid bare, stripped of its comfortable veils, our responses can no longer be timid or incremental. We are called to actions that are as direct and uncompromising as the truth itself—actions that challenge the status quo, dismantle oppressive structures, and build something genuinely new.

And if we act differently, perhaps we can finally stop circling justice and begin flying toward it.

For too long, we’ve hovered, debated, and deliberated, often mistaking conversation for progress. But when our actions align with a truth bravely spoken, we cease this aimless circling. We find our true bearing, like the crow, and set a direct, unwavering course. This isn’t just about reaching a destination; it’s about the journey itself becoming purposeful, each beat of our wings carrying us closer to a world where justice isn’t a distant ideal, but a lived reality.

On the descending side, just off the apex of 2026, war rages, and divisions are wider than ever; the approach of another midterm election cycle brings little hope that things will be different. Our Creator has built within every human being a capacity for hope that is not tied to current events or the news stories that continually swirl in the dangerous, spellbinding, fear-empowered cesspool of hopelessness. Remember the one whom scripture calls the father of many nations. Abraham developed the ability to “hope against hope” (from Romans 4:18), meaning to maintain faith and positive expectation even when common sense, logic, and physical evidence say the situation is completely impossible. We can do likewise even in 2026 if we “Stop Circling The Truth”.

Proverbs 4:25–27 beautifully reinforces our theme: “Let your eyes look straight ahead; fix your gaze directly before you. Give careful thought to the paths for your feet and be steadfast in all your ways.” This passage echoes our calling at Three-Fifths Magazine: to remain focused on truth, justice, spiritual insight, and bridge-building even when the cultural landscape is complex, always striving to move “as the crow flies” towards our ultimate purpose.

The Sage Journal on Colonialism and Empire 1896-1963 George Steinmetz 2026, May 2025