It was 2am on Sunday night, June 1st. I couldn’t sleep, he was on my mind, the people were on my mind. deep breaths were not working. Took to my pen and paper, and my Soul responded:
He couldn’t breathe.
He shouted that he couldn’t breathe,
He cried for help.
He yelled for his Mother!
His Mother died two years ago. I can’t help but wonder if he called her because he KNEW he was going to die and wanted her to come for him or because he saw her. Whichever, whatever the reason it makes me tear up each time I think of it.
He yelled for his Momma, because we all know Mommas make everything better. Mommas give us strength.
Who else was he going to cry out for? Who else should he ask for help? Those meant to “help” were the ones killing him.
Now our cities are crying out his name-George Floyd, along with Breonna Taylor, and Tony McDade. People are angry. They have every right to be.
Living in fear, living oppressed, living with the burden of being feared and hated simply because of the color of your skin is tiresome.
How long were we expecting them to continue to live this way? How long did we think they would be okay with being stamped a criminal at birth? How long did we think they would be okay with not having a place at the table? Did we think scraps would fill their bellies?
They tried to play by your rules but you still didn’t remove that boot off of their neck.
They fought your wars, hoping to gain some respect. However, as others were received with floats and open arms they were quickly reminded that a uniform wouldn’t get them in through the front door.
They have abided by your rules, played your games, but yet you still gunned them down. They offer you their license, you say “No, Thank You” with a bullet.
You want them to work hard and pull themselves up by their bootstraps. They do, only to have you call the Police on them because they do not belong in your gym, your building, your neighborhood.
You say they don’t know the value of things, can’t be trusted to take of anything or anyone. But when a Black body tells you to leash your dog to protect the wildlife, you call the Police claiming your life is in danger. You know that call alone, just put his in REAL danger. But you have to put him in his place, who did he think he was?
Black bodies should not have to be watchful of the fear YOU feel. YOU need to question why you feel that fear. Who taught you that fear? Why the Fear? Based off of whose fear have you learned to fear a Black body?
Why the Hate? Off of whose hate have you learned to hate Black bodies?
I feel sad. I feel scared. I feel torn. But at the same time I feel hopeful.
A change must occur. It is coming. I don’t know what it will look like, but it will be much better looking than the tragedy we are living in now.
It’s a reckoning.
We are witnessing a reckoning.
Change MUST come.
Should they be violent? Should they destroy? I’m torn. I understand the anger. But most importantly, it is not my place to say.
This system was never meant to protect the Other, especially not a FREE Black body. Many are finally waking up to this fact as they’ve witnessed the disparities in Black communities. Many have died because they didn’t have access to healing hands during a pandemic. Ironically, hands to hold them down are always available.
A hand seems to always be available to shove their beautiful Black faces to the ground.
Hands are always available to pull a trigger to have their beautiful Black bodies fall to the ground.
A hand will always be available to keep you from breathing, but if not a knee will do…but you must never take one.
I ramble, because like my city my brain, my heart, and soul are currently under unrest.
I’m fearful for my friends, brothers and sisters out there in the streets. But I’m also extremely proud.
I’m upset at myself, because I can’t be out there. But I’ll put my dollars to good use to help those on the frontlines.
I’m angry at the white bodies caught on camera destroying communities and taking the peace out of the protest. However, I can’t help but feel a heartfelt smile on my face at the sight of white bodies guarding protestors with their privilege in an attempt to keep them safe.
I hear sirens and see buildings on fire. My heartaches, I close the window, I change the channel. It’s too much. But even with a closed window, I can’t stop the sirens from echoing in my brain. I pray that it’s not a small business on fire or even worse, a minority owned business.
Even so, “Anger is ANGER” this justifies their actions to my practical brain. As my heart silently prays and hopes they have insurance. A second prayer is added so make sure that the business owner does not get added to the list of those that hate the protestors. A third prayer is then whispered, “…protect them Father,” I plead, “keep them safe.”
I’m bewildered by how many people don’t get it.
I’m hopeful by how many finally do.
I’m challenged by the belief that we can change this system.
I’m puzzled by the silence of those that claim to love Black culture and of those that are in positions of power.
I’m worried that their plan to divide us will work.
Two agencies — Immigration and Customs Enforcement and Customs and Border Protection — are sending staff, resources around the country
I take a deep breath.
I hug my little brown boy tighter and I force myself to believe that this will not be an issue he will ever have to deal with when he gets older. I’m no fool. I quickly, come to the realization that in order for this Utopian belief to come true, I have to believe that the unrest today will bring change for his tomorrow.
I believe that your struggle, is my struggle.
If there’s no Justice for You, there’s no Justice for me.
If your shackles aren’t broken, my borders will not be torn down.
I stand with BLACK LIVES MATTER.
I Believe BLACK LIVES MATTER.
I urge my fellow Brown people to stand in SOLIDARITY with BLM
Not sure how this should end.
Not sure how this will ALL end.
Maybe a hard STOP will do.
STOP Police Brutality!
STOP systemic RACISM!
STOP taking BLACK LIVES!
STOP terrorizing communities of COLOR!
STOP polarizing VOICES of COLOR!