My Black Life Matters

I have been contemplating what, if anything, I was going to blog about in regards to the most recent displays of racial injustices occurring in the United States. What do I think about it all? How do I feel about it all? What do I think will come from it? What do I want to come from it? Should I say or write anything at all? Does a topic like this have a place on this particular blog? I considered that as a black woman, specifically a black woman that lives in the South; isn’t it obvious how I feel? Not necessarily. I have struggled to put my feelings into words, even though they are my feelings. And, yes, a topic like this does have a place on this blog because it directly affects me.

So, how do I feel? Disappointed is the overarching emotion. Disappointed that in 2020 I’m even typing these words. Disappointed upon hearing reports of the disproportionate numbers of COVID-19 related deaths in black individuals. Disappointed that in May, nearly 3 months after his murder in February, I ran 2.23 miles for Ahmaud Arbery. Disappointed upon hearing that in March, Breonna Taylor was murdered by police as she slept in her home. Beyond disappointed as I watched in disgust and horror, a video filmed in May that showed a police officer murder George Floyd by pressing his knee into his neck for an entire 8 minutes and 46 seconds.

I have typed the word disappointed so many times in the last few minutes that I contemplated naming this blog post ‘Disappointed’.

So, with that, I began thinking about how I would move through all of this. How can I help? What can I do? I have always made it a point not to watch too much news. After all, nine times out of nine, the news on television will be bad news. I typically absorb enough information to be informed and then detach. I have kept this strategy in place through all things 2020. When I did take the time to watch the most recent news, I understood the frustration of the protestors being labeled as rioters. I also understood that not everyone that was shown rioting was advocating for Black Lives Matter. Some of those people were hecklers and imposters trying to take away from the movement. I tried not to judge if I did or did not see people posting about racial inequalities and police brutality on their social media platforms. Everyone supports and copes in different ways, right? I researched. I signed petitions. I had open and honest conversations, both as the talker and the listener. However, I wanted to do more. I needed to do more. So on Sunday, June 7, 2020, I participated in my first protest; a peaceful protest, in Decatur, GA.

I didn’t know what to expect as I walked up with my Black Lives Matter sign. As I got closer, what I saw brought tears to my eyes and turned some of my disappointment into hope. I saw droves of elementary school-age kids, both black and white, walking to the protest with signs that they made. I have always known that racism isn’t something you are born with; it is something that is taught. Seeing young kids determined to have their voices heard was a big deal for me. Seeing them march was a big deal for me. Hearing teenagers speak not just about the racial discrimination and prejudices they have experienced; but how it would not be tolerated, was a big deal for me. Seeing the diversity and passion in the crowd was a big deal for me. I left motivated and inspired not to stop after one protest; to keep pushing every day. Motivated to not shrink. Motivated to stand up for myself and others. Motivated to call out inappropriate comments when they are said to me or in my presence. My disappointment continues to turn into hope and this blog post will not be titled ‘Disappointed’. But the title will remain ‘My Black Life Matters’ because the fact that I had to type all of these words is proof that it still needs to be said.