I’m honestly sitting here tussling with what feels like a million emotions at war in my heart. I’m angry, because the past is an ever-present reality. Black life still doesn’t matter. I’m hurt, because even the so-called good people who see our bodies dropping in the wind won’t admit the root cause. A large body of white life hates black life. I’m at a lost, because when they urge us to do the best with our lives, even in the earnest moments of worship, our lives have no value.
I read a quote on yesterday by a young writer for Black Voices on the Huffington Post.
“It’s not breaking news that being black in America can be difficult and frightening, to say the least. Now, more than ever, we cannot ignore or mask the reality that we live in a country where one’s complexion is a direct threat to their safety and livelihood.”
Let’s be clear. The sons of black parents can’t leave their own home to walk to the store for candy. They can’t listen to loud music in a car. They can’t walk in the middle of the road. They can’t shop slow at Walmart while black. They can’t surrender if suspected. Our teenage Afrikan princesses can’t exercise their freedom of speech without being face-planted into the cement and dragged through the grass. Oh, and none of them better not dare do any of these things black. And now, the coup de grace, the four walls of the church are no longer a refuge.
Again, an American terrorist walked into the presence of accepting black people, because let’s be truthful, we welcome anybody into our culture, and like the racist maniacal sicko he is, sat for an hour pretending to worship with God’s people, before snatching their lives away from them. I spent hours yesterday listening to gun advocates arguing that if the black folk in that church were armed, some of the nine would still be alive. Right, because who goes to worship the prince of peace with a piece? The problem is, twenty years ago, a cute-faced infant was born to be breed by hate. I’m aware this is passing judgement on the parents. But, aren’t parents the first teachers of children. This mad man didn’t just pick of magazine one day and start hating Afrikan people. No, this was historical hate and generational ideology of supremacy passed down to a child who grew to be a monster. This is the same child who probably sat in the same elementary, middle, and high school classrooms with children who were probably family members of the people he slaughtered with bullets. Oh yes, we no longer have to look far for hate. It’s sitting next to our children in schools. It’s teaching our children in public schools. It’s managing us on our jobs. It’s pastoring churches. Let me say that again, it’s pastoring churches. It’s policing our communities. It’s doctors, lawyers, politicians, and presidents. I’m not indicting the entire white race. It’s not fair and I don’t have it in my dna to do so. There are some wonderful white people in the world who have done a lot, historically and now, to help the Afrikan-American community’s plight for equality. However, black people are governed by hate and we have to find a way to survive it.
Let’s start by putting black families back together. Let’s fight to replace guns and drugs in the hands of our youth with books and college degrees. Let’s fight harder to deelevate the rate of abortion in black communities by protesting corporations like planned parenthood. PLEASE start supporting black owned businesses in our communities. Stop letting everybody else set up shop on every corner in our community and make a killing. We are brilliant innovators. We have it in us to build wealth in our communities. Lastly, let’s not lose our faith. Black people have a faith connection to the creator that’s beyond our imagination. Don’t let this terroristic act keep us from trusting God and believing that he’ll continue to unite us and fight for us.
More importantly, be mad but still love. This terrorist may represent a large populous of dark-hearted people, but he doesn’t represent an entire race of people. We can fight and erase this hate together.