Black Notifications…

May, 31st. 2017. 12:24pm

My news app alerts me that the second noose was found in the African American Museum in Washington, DC. 
I skim through, the article… shake my head and immediately go onto one of my favorite 
insta-comedian´s pages for some light humor. 
I smirk at the sub par delivery of today´s skit and continue to scroll down my timeline. I think I am looking for something to make me laugh, but the truth is I am searching for an escape from the sound my heart makes knowing that as a people, MY people, we are constantly fighting for the right, to be.. PEOPLE. 
Tragedy after tragedy, and stories deglorifying the beauty of a black life. 
Too often reiterating the fact that ¨Black lives Matter¨ then having to defend that very premise from those that want to conclude with an unrelated truth  – ¨All Lives Matter¨. 
Really?
Show me another group of people burying their young sons who have died at the hands of the very people that swore to protect them? Are there other groups of people living in fear that a routine traffic stop could be the reason that a family congregates at the stop sign a block away from the home of the slain father, son or brother. Please, point me in the direction of another other group of people living with constant fears and restrictions that create the highest levels of trauma and stress, to where putting a bullet hole in their own kind´s heart, is a way to reclaim their manhood. 
As a 30 year old educated, Zimbabwean, black woman; I am a quintessential minority. 
I had to come to the realization that everything that makes me who I am, serves as a threat to the very society that puts me in these small and tight labelled boxes. 
I´m educated, therefore not only do I possess the cognitive ability to pull the fallacies from the concepts and theories of institutionalized discrimination; I also have the ability to effectively communicate my outcries respectfully and eloquently, which makes me uneasy to tame. 
I have royalty flowing through my Zimbabwean blood, so knowing my worth is something that was instilled in me from birth and settling for anything less is simply not an option. 
The worst of all my threats – I am a black woman. 
I was born with this inexplicable resilience that allows me to endure the worst pain and still be able to sacrifice and give unwavering love.
With all this power and knowledge, I still feel helpless when I think about my 6 year old son growing up in this reality. Why do our babies not get a chance to be kids? All this violence inflicted on us, and admittedly often by us. Tired of being tired but caught in a state of numbness and denial that maybe just maybe, all this will go away one day soon.
March 31st, 2017 2:27pm
My news app alerts me, ¨Cleveland cop who fatally shot Tamir Rice, 12, in 2014 was fired. Investigation found he was not truthful on job application.¨

…..

One comment

  1. I tried to watch the Philando Castile dash cam video yesterday. It made me sick to my stomach….. and then when the baby ran out of the back seat…. no words. I try to put myself in your shoes, Tenda; a black woman raising a black man/son. And all that I get are big, overwhelming, confused feelings. What is even the answer???

    Like

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