I have no words for last week’s events. I have searched in my education, my pain, my anger and my fear, and I have found nothing: not because it's no use, but because I’ve already said them all. Last summer they were rioting in Ferguson and every other day was a new battle in explaining to people why the words "Black Lives Matter" matter so much. Last summer, Eric Garner was murdered by police and Sandra Bland was found dead in her cell. My words were fueled with passion, energy and anger then: I would make a difference. And yet, halfway through 2016 and 135 deaths later, here we stand at our vigils and in our homes, wondering where to turn next, because after all of the protesting, all of the fights and all of the words we share, two more of our brothers’ blood have stained this earth. Because a year later, it seems almost as if nothing has changed at all.
In my life I have never met a more perseverant, strong and thoughtful group of people than the melanin-flavored Americans who dot this country like sprinkles on ice cream. We have endured the worst of America, we have paid our dues and we have fought continuously, resiliently and beautifully for the rights that we now have. Our successes have been great, and yet we stand as members of a larger community that claims we should be finished, that asks us to sit down and take the win we’ve got.
I want to wake up in a world in 20 years where my black son or daughter is not tainted with the stains of hatred this country still brands upon us. I want my child to go to a school where the expectations are not unconsciously and inherently lower because of a belief that “black people just don’t do as well.” I want my child to grow up in a world where people think about their privilege, about their voice and about their influence, and where everyone works constantly and tirelessly to heal the wounds that our ancestors have endured.
If there is anything that being black in America has taught me, it is that there is no dream that is too big or no mountain unconquerable. We stand here a year later, watching as America’s festering wounds of racism, sexism, classism and privilege eat itself alive, leaving behind fire and fear in its wake.
So to everyone who feels as if they have lost their voice, that their words do not make a difference and they’ve tried everything and no one is listening: do not give up. For every naysayer there is someone who needed to hear those words today, who needed to see that someone was still fighting with them. Our road ahead of us is long, but so is our strength, our compassion and our motivation. We will succeed, because we have the Harriet Tubmans, the Frederick Douglasses, the Malcom X’s and the Obamas. We have the millions of fighters and protectors who have lost their names but live in us today.
And to the members of this beautiful community, in your sadness, your fear and your anger, remember the golden blood that runs in your veins, the power of your voice and the incredible things that the next generation will one day say about us when we finally find our success.
