How Are You Just Going About Your Business?

Blacks are being murdered in HD. No longer do we view the beating of a motorist through grainy film, we film the murders in HD. Through the lens of smart phones, of passerby’s we witness the complete disregard for life—because they are black. The debt owed for America’s past sins is overdue, and yet here we are in 2020, debating whether we should give black people the rights they were born with: the rights of a human being.

Payment is late, America.

For the last couple of weeks, I have read about one vicious murder after another of a beautiful black person. Each time, I have turned to the written word for solace. Emotions and events translated into black resilience. From the victims themselves, books have been written that explicitly detail the black experience prior to the abolition of slavery and yet—people pretend as if the systemic racism is as new a disease as COVID-19.

Allies want to celebrate small victories, and more importantly they want black people,to celebrate them—so they can get back to the lives prior to the 2020 protests.

In response, I have attempted to summarize my thoughts and failed. I failed to stifle the anguish, the anger and crippling anxiety that lead to me hyperventilating, while isolated, alone in my apartment.

Many times, the attempts I made in the past, to have a discussion about racism with most of my friends fell on deaf ears.

Too many times. 

Then suddenly May 2020 turns a corner, and everyone wants you to perform the 400 years of oppression for them like a damn performing stage animal. You had the span of your life to learn, to listen and you ignored my words. Because if you didn’t? You wouldn’t jut be asking how to be an ally. Do not put this on your black friends to teach you. 

But this isn’t about me. This is about murder.

The excuses used by the murders to justify their actions were not unexpected. Don’t all murderers lie about why they did it when caught? Those lies are not what created an internal firestorm, unparalleled to even a woman backing into my car four years ago and then lying about it. Or the time I was told “I spoke well” for someone who looked like me. Or the time… you get the picture..

My rage is for those who can still pretend to not know what has been happening. My rage is for those who have ignored the suffering of those that built this country against their will and look like the ones who did.

Contemporary American history is not all that different from 1619 to present: such as transference of ownership from plantation owner to the owner of a prison.

This is African-American history.

Our history is one that includes when a man has a foot or knee lodged into his neck long enough to suffocate him, is an occurrence people can walk past. Meanwhile, those living in the world opposite this are posting Easter photos of their children, last day of virtual school posts and family photos during summer getaways.

Pregnant black woman lynched? Re: Let me post a photo of my child running through the lush green grass.

Black man choked to death for selling loose cigarettes? Re: It’s time to post our pregnancy announcement!

An elderly man hit and left to bleed on the pavement by a police officer. Re: Better upload a dance choreographed by a Karen on Tik-Tok.

How are so many people still behaving as if nothing is going on?

How do you, at minimum, not ask the black people in your life how they are doing? Between COVID and the 2020 Protests—black lives are at risk and much higher risk than others in America. I am disheartened when I talk to black women and find that I am the first person who has asked about their well being since the protests and since COVID. How do you have the time to live in your dreamworld and not ask these black women, or other black people how they are doing?

Daily. Weekly. And every moment you can—because that moment may be their last.

I have read arguments that these murders were justified. These same arguments remind me of what used to take place in a discussion between a slave owner and slave trader while they negotiate the value of a human life.

And then I realized. Last year, I posted a blog from my future memoir. It was an excerpt that specifically dealt with the racism I experienced growing up in Southern California; at church. It was in front of adults, and the adults did not correct the racism—because they taught it. The intent of the blog was lost. There was sympathy and apologies but no action. Uncoincidently, those same people who apologized are the same people who have contacted me zero times about my well being during the protests.

But this isn’t about me.

Daily, my mind wrestles with complete discouragement and optimism—begging my heart to provide refuge; a safe place. But safe places no longer exist. I can no longer deny that there is a divide—a difference in reality. On one side, there is the world that black people live in. And then there is the world that they only receive a glimpse of that they are not a part of.

If you’ve said nothing, donated nothing and stood for nothing: how do you sleep at night accepting who you are?

It doesn’t matter how far we’ve come as a country, in a country black people built no less—these are hate crimes and acts of terrorism performed by many rotten apples.

But please, keep ignoring the plight. Keep living in your utopia. 

Those who are stuck in the ongoing American nightmare, hear the same tone-deaf questions over and over.

“Why can’t they just protest peacefully? Is racism getting worse? Are things that bad? But why are white savior movies bad? Why are they rioting?”

Why can’t you just wake up to the fact that American life is a nightmare that black people cannot wake from?

I have wondered for a long time, but especially for the last two months—if it was fate that I was born bi-racial. If so, not to have the light-skinned privilege, but to witness and understand the fact that my white family members do not care about me, so why would they care about black people?

Are these absent-minded people maybe not so absent and simply don’t care?

Life is tough enough on its own and when you add the layer of being black in America, you have coin-toss life; one that could be good or bad—it all depends on luck.

You can make claims to be anti racist all you like, but if you remain silent, you are telling those who would murder us you’re ok with it too.

These victims were murdered by those who should have protected them. Silenced.

Those who claim to not have known what is happening and been happening—are the worst of all.

After all the articles, blogs, books, hashtags and now videos to document the black experience in America, I ask again: how could you begin to pretend not to know?

As time goes on, I care less and less about select friends and their daily social activities, awards, recognitions, promotions, engagements, births, pregnancies and so on. These same friends, have become acquaintances that would scroll past an article that listed my name in a police shooting. I have scrolled past their lives as well.

Why should I care about their privileged life if they certainly do not care about my colored one?

With all the evidence here in plain sight, if you’re still not outraged enough to leave your comfort zone—then you might need a soul check.