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I Raise a Fist

Updated: May 30, 2020

I’m going to attempt to be just as articulate as I’ve always tried to be, but I must admit I’m so full of emotion that I don’t know how this will come out. Even now as I begin writing this, I feel my heart beginning to beat faster indicating a trauma that has penetrated not only my mind, but my body and internal systems.


I have a sixth sense. Actually, it’s more like a Jedi ability to feel a disturbance in the force. And just as evil as the dark side of the force is, I feel such evil taking place. Only the force I’m talking about represents a people and they are Black, just like me. I’m talking about how even though I may not be tuned in to Social media or other news platforms, I feel a disturbance, or great evil and “murder most foul” that has taken the life of another unarmed Black man. A friend of mine confessed that being a person who belongs to The race of privilege, that he doesn’t know what it’s like to hear the news of such evils and atrocities committed against his ethnicity.


It always feels like you’ve just lost a close member of your family regardless of the details. And hits you at your core leaving you feeling like you should sit down before you collapse to the floor. It feels like you’re a never ending target, singled out to be punished, humiliated, disrespected, abused, and killed. And I don’t understand why. But if I hear the curse of Ham argument one more time, I fear I will punch someone in the face. It makes you question your faith; the faith that has empowered and strengthened your people for hundreds of years. You feel powerless. You feel like a schizophrenic thinking that everyone is out to get you. You may not have any experience with police violence at all and yet you’re traumatized and experience symptoms of P.T.S.D. just like it were happening to you.


Everyone has been hit hard by Covid -19, but for Blacks in the U.S. it’s like being hit by a category 5 tornado or 8.0 devastating earthquake twice before you could recover from the last. Let me paint the picture: Institutional Slavery- Jim Crow- Civil Rights Movement- Redlining and other forms of racial discrimination -The War on Drugs and Mass Incarceration- Police brutality- Murder by cops. Did I forget something? I’m sure I must have.


I remember the days when you’d hear about a missing Black woman or innocent Black man killed by police on Black radio stations or newspapers, but no major network would cover it. Ignorance was bliss, yet if one was attuned to his or her Black Jedi powers he or she would still sense the disturbance even if these stories were never told.


I appreciate the attention that social media gives this issue. I appreciate that we are now empowered to be reporters with our smartphones allowing us to capture the moments of discrimination in real time. But I must admit, I am more burdened than I have ever been with the plight of my people.


I’m in mourning and I can’t tell you what day it started or the day when it will end. I’m in mourning for my people. I’m in mourning because I feel powerless. I’m in mourning because even though my spirit knows that God is good, it doesn’t feel like he is right now. I’m in mourning because people are still in denial that racism is thriving and that Blacks are the target. I’m in mourning because Whites will never know the pain that I’m writing about. Their sons will never know the depravity of the justice system or be made to feel like someone has cursed them to reside in the “sunken place”. I’m in mourning because non-Blacks get to move on with their lives after hearing news about dead African Americans and we do not. It stings and it doesn’t go away. I raise a fist of solidarity today for my Black people. I take a moment of silence for every unarmed Black person who has been killed by the hands of the police. I throw up my hands at God, in frustration. I close my eyes to remember the sacrifices and faith of my ancestors. I’m in mourning today.






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