Like many of you, I’ve been watching the country go up (or down, depending on your perspective) in flames. As I’ve watched the media explain this historic event as if it’s the first time it’s ever happened, I’ve found myself thinking of my father, and one of the many stories he told me.

He was in the field, working with my Granddad. Sharecroppers, bka, still enslaved. The story of the land we were supposed to receive versus the land we actually have is deserving of a post of its own. He said their owner(/boss whatever term you’d like to use) came in the field and speaking of my father to my Granddad said: He can’t go to school anymore, I need him in the field. He was in the third grade. My father died unable to read, and could barely write his name.

As a kid, I never really understood the term to understand where you’re going you must know where you’ve been. It’s in moments as these truth needs to be on the table, and we must look back to move forward. Taking into account my parents, and their parents, and for the sake of this post, their parents, we’re easily back 150 years.

What’s changed?

I remember white men calling my father BOY. Not muffled or under their breath, in regular conversation. At the store. At the gas station. In the park. I’ll have been in TX 6 years in August. I’ve been called a nigger girl while here. I’ve been pulled over with my infant son in the backseat and 7 (SEVEN) police cars came to assist. 

In the framework this country is built on, the original blueprint, there’s a section that specifically states how the men in that room conferred in agreeance that while they(some) may have opposed slavery, they still had slaves. While the 3/5’s Compromise is said to be meant for legislative and taxing purposes, imagine feeling you were never meant to count as a whole person. Imagine being an OTHER. America, her judicial system, her resources, her financial system, her education system, her housing system….her rules and by laws, were never created for me. Included in her foundation often overlooked and in the selective memory section: riots, lynchings, protests, revolutions, looting, and wars etc. For context see: The American Revolution. Also for reference: The Boston Tea Party- A culmination of being sick of Britain’s shit. 

There is literally a war because there were people who felt it was time for my ancestors to be free, and the south was like….over our dead bodies. 

Oh. Hi Jim Crow Laws. 

By the way, my father was 27 when the voting right act was passed. My maternal grandfather, 45.

Today is the 99th anniversary of The Tulsa Massacre, where a whole town was decimated and ravaged by looting…and almost the entire town killed, for being black. Present day, there are statues, and roads, and buildings, and bridges erected in honor of those who had every intention in keeping us segregated and oppressed. Their heartless and calculated actions forever etched in our history by monuments for us all to see. And be reminded. Daily.

There are truly two America’s: The one where we’re asked at a young age what we want to be when we grow up, so that we can all live “The American Dream”. We’re lead to believe we all have the same footing, you just have to work hard to get to where you want to be. Then the other: where we’re profiled, overpoliced, discriminated against, and overall disadvantaged. When we try to explain our plight, instead of actively listening to our cries, we are often met with others explaining to us what it feels like to be us. How we should feel. It’s all an exaggeration, we hear. Why do we make everything about race. If you’re not black, I implore you to stop trying to tell black folks what it is and isn’t to be black.

In the history of America, where there was a revolt, there was a shift. I pray that a rose grows from the concrete out of all this, and we have reform. In all areas. America needs to be reborn. I grew up in the projects in Alabama. There would be police “check-points” at the entrance and exits. Everyone of age in the vehicle would need to produce identification. This type of policing doesn’t happen in the suburbs. Flash forward to being in Mississippi a few years ago and being met with that same check-point coming off of an exit. As I type, my eyes are filling with water with how ANGRY and afraid I was. Watching tv today, a white man said 99% of the US police force is good. The actual numbers say otherwise. I wonder if he’s ever been to any hood, U.S.A. Seen the level of harassment some endure. I cringed at his words as even right now, in our current storm of destruction and mayhem, the issue at hand is STILL not being addressed. I also pray that ears and hearts begin to open, and we are heard. I know some are immovable, and clear on their stance. In their minds, surely there is a justifiable reason as to why these things happen to us. There’s something in our past that makes our deaths permissible. I’m exhausted and frustrated in trying to explain why my race has such bad relations with the police. We as a people are traumatized. My children are serving our country, and I am afraid for them when they are not in uniform. Even as a person who has never had a criminal record, I tense up and mentally prepare myself when the police are behind me. In 2020. Some may feel that as a reach, but the PTSD of my youth help form my day to day life. Fairness and justice should apply to all, not just when it personally applies to you. It’s tiresome to explain that yes, All lives matter…but that ALL includes…ALL. Not just one from a perch of privilege. My black life matters. Too. Also. As well. So do Hispanics, Natives, and every single other race.

We’re teetering on an already worn thin line. Martial Law is right over the horizon, and honestly already in effect in MN. More states are soon to follow. America needs a reset. A rebirth. I love everybody. It was never in my design to be able to assign who to allow grace to and who doesn’t deserve. This isn’t about whites vs blacks…this is everybody vs racism & oppression. It blows my mind that so many people have been arrested, hit with rubber bullets, are being tear gassed, and the other three officers in George Floyd’s murder still have not been charged. But also, I’m not surprised. That is sadly symbolic within itself.

Imagine being told and understanding as a fourth grader you were being bussed to another school to help desegregate it. That’s not my parent’s story or my Grand’s story, that’s mine.

Listen, we all are entitled to our opinions, but we’re living in a time where we can not afford blindness. Nor selfishness. I have a plethora of knowledge about simply existing while black. As do your black friends. Your black coworkers. The black members of your church. We are here to help any and everyone gain understanding. It then becomes your moral responsibility for humanities sake to pass that information on. Some in your circle may listen, other may not. I just pray that my non-black brother’s and sister’s stand with us, and help bear the cross. History has its eyes on all of us.

Sending love, light, safety, and wellness to all this touches.