I'm Black. I'm Human.
I wrote this post on September 23, 2016. I never published it. I didn't publish because I didn't want to have conversations that tend to happen when Black people speak up for themselves. I didn't have the strength back then to defend my right to live, my children's right to live, my husband's right to live, my family's right to live. It is our right to live and not die because another human has insecurities and a need for power. I don't have the strength now either to defend, but I can tell you that learning about murders of Black men and women and children brings about a deep sorrow. A sorrow that my ancestors must felt when their families were stolen, beaten, and murdered.
No Title from September 23, 2016, with edits from 2020
When I rise each morning, the first thought on my mind isn't that I am a Black woman. I don't wear my skin color as a burden. It wasn't until I became an adult that I realized that being Black is considered different for many. I didn't grow up on an island, but instead in the projects and inner-city of Little Rock. I don't remember experiencing hate from White people because of my skin color as a child or teenager.
When we moved to the Midwest in 2005, my awareness of my otherness revealed itself. A new feeling bubbled up to the surface, and I didn't understand, nor did I like it. This feeling heightened when a new "friend" offered me advice. Her advice to me was to move to the hood and start selling drugs since I missed seeing other Black people regularly. I wish this weren't my only experience where I questioned the heart of my White "friends." I recall the time when I sat in a room of Christian women here in the Bible-belt who just couldn't bear the heat and felt that it was very appropriate to say they would have instead been enslaved rather than wear the many layers of clothing that wealthy women dressed in the 1700 and 1800s. As if to say that being enslaved was more of a luxury than having to be inconvenienced by clothing. These are the stories that make me remember that I can never be entirely comfortable in this world.
My heart has been aching for a while now. This week was the week where the floodgates opened in the tears and prayers deep inside of me took ahold of my being. I got on my knees because that is where I find peace.
During this time, many thoughts have entered my mind and stories I have suppressed to keep from becoming angry like those that I shared earlier. In 2020, I've learned that I don't need to suppress my anger, but instead, I need to let it flow. I need to verbalize it because it hurts me more, and my feelings are relevant and real. I am angry. I hurt because my humanness isn't acknowledged, and neither are those who look like me. I wonder why aren't we seen as people with feelings, hopes, dreams, families, responsibilities, and all the other stuff that all the other people on this earth deal with. Did God not create us in His image too?!
So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. Genesis 1:27
My understanding from Genesis 1:27 is He did indeed create us in His image. We reflect His image too. The same God who created them also created us. Those who have no value for humanity may have hearts so dark that they can't even see themselves in His image.
It saddens me when our society experiences mass murders— at schools, nightclubs, and movie theaters—the same as when someone who looks like they could be brother, husband, or son is murdered. But, what hurts the most is when men exhibit this extreme hate have the option to live or die. Ten times out of ten, life is still accessible to these murderers unless they choose to kill themselves. If Sean Bell and the countless others had received the same courtesy, I am sure we wouldn't need shirts, blog posts, videos, podcasts, social media posts to remind the rest of the world that we are humans too. Our Black men and women have children who want their parents to return home. Believe it or not, we have a family anticipating our return.
Sean Bell's death hit me in the face in 2006. Never before did I experience anxiousness about my husband leaving. I became a terrified pregnant 24-year-old wife and mother. Instead of giving the talk to my children, I found myself needing to tell my husband to be careful and return home safely. We shouldn't have to live with these thoughts that cause anxiety because we want to go to a movie at night, hang out with our friends, or take a shortcut through a neighborhood we may not live in during the day.
Not only do they murder us, but we are left having to explain why this isn't right! We have to listen as they share that the victim wasn't a perfect person. What does one's past have to do with a cop shooting, suffocating, beating, or choking a person? It doesn't matter if they ran a red light before or stole a pack of gum or didn't graduate high school or smoked marijuana or had a dispute with someone. Changing the narrative doesn't justify the reason for taking another person's life. Changing the narrative doesn't take away their family member's pain. Changing the narrative doesn't make the officer's action right. Changing the narrative doesn't justify the action.
I know that the deaths that happen the week of May 27, 2020, will not be the last. There have been several deaths between September 23, 2016, until now. I know the world that we live in doesn't reflect God. I know that expecting a real change is simply a wish. I am not hopeless, but I am realistic. I realize that the world we live in is full of evil and darkness. Friends, who are struggling, I will get through this pain by praying and steeping myself in His Word so that the affliction will not turn to hate. I am also choosing to share my stories. I won't just share the feel-good stories. I will tell my stories so the idea that these tragedies that only certain Black people have specific experiences can be proven false. As a Black woman who doesn't cause trouble, I've experienced being treated as if I am invisible, talked down to, made to feel like that I am doing something wrong just because I am there. Friends, our pain is not limited to only what is on the latest newsreel. We experience pain and disappointment in our regular interactions in communities that pride themselves on being inviting to all.
As a Believer, I choose to be a doer of the Word. I know that His Word is true. I am holding onto the words I spoke over myself when I was 10-ish, "Ain't nobody coming to save you, Latonya. You better hold onto God." Ain't nobody coming to save us now either, so we better find our Anchor to hold onto as we fight against injustice and hatred. I know the Father is with me, so I choose to keep my eyes focused on Him in the midst of this so that Satan can't use my pain and hurt against me.
Be encouraged. Be unshakable.