I am really tired of writing about the challenges of feeling unsafe walking around in Black skin, raising a Black child.
I am tired of feeling like it is open season on Black lives.
I am tired of being fearful of watching the news, choosing to binge watch Hulu or Netflix because the reality of living in this skin means that it is more likely than not the news will relay a story of the death of a brother or sister…at the hands of someone White…because that’s what makes national news these days.
Oh sure, yeah, I hear the rumbling excuses used to distract us from living under the threat of social terrorism—“What about Black on Black crime?”
What about it?
I am tired of hearing about why we can’t get serious gun control in the US.
I am tired of seeing, reading, hearing about how White mass killers are “loners with emotional problems” who write racist manifestos, tell friends and family that they want to start a racial war, and are gifted a gun by parents.
I am shocked that this young killer was taken alive, given a bullet-proof vest and humanely taken into custody. That alone seems to be a privilege not afforded to Black folk who are walking down the street.
I fear that a time will come when my economic and educational privilege will be shown, in dramatic and terrifying fashion, not to trump the disadvantage of my skin color.
I am angered by the unmitigated gall of South Carolina to fly what I believe to be the treasonous flag of the Confederacy; the Confederacy lost. We’re supposed to be a union.
I grieve for the dead:
Rev. Clementa Pinckney
Rev. Sharonda Singleton
Ethel Lee Lance
Rev. Daniel L. Simmons Sr.
Rev. DePayne Middleton-Doctor
I am so weary of this general subject matter. I feel compelled to write about it too often.
I am scared for Hope. I don’t want to keep explaining this ish to her. There is no explanation. None. I feel a sense of anguish after this massacre in Mother Emanuel. It is shameful. It is horrendous. I don’t know how the families can offer forgiveness. I am clearly not as far in my faith as they are, because I can’t offer that at all.
I am not even sure I can write anything else…the grief, sorrow and anger are just too much. I’ll just end with what my dear friend Mimi said on one of our early Add Water and Stir podcasts: “We’re trying to raise kids here!”