Black in America

In the wake of a tragic shooting, where an unarmed college bound teenager was shot to death, my heart is very heavy.

I tried to shy away from writing anything about my opinion on what seems to be like the consistent killings of innocent black males, but it’s not in my nature to keep quiet about anything.

I don’t have much to say about what occurred yesterday afternoon to Michael Brown and his family. They are in my prayers and I hope the cop who wrongly killed him gets everything he deserves.

As an older sister to a young black teenager and possibly a future mother to one, I cannot help, but be terrified for their futures. How can you raise a child to love the color of their skin, while also teaching them that people will hate them for it? How do I tell my little brother to be the bigger person when his suburban white “friends” use the n-word and giggle like it’s nothing?

Much like the killing of Eric Garner, this situation as gotten a lot of attention on social media, so much that I had to log off Twitter last night and go for a drive. I physically could not handle the ignorance I was reading.

We’re humans, we’re curious creatures. We like to take what little information we have and piece it together to get the full story and whether it’s true or not, we usually take it as fact.

I can sit here and type for hours straight listing statistics and sharing articles about how blacks are more at risk for dying at the hands of police than any other race. I could try to put into words how it felt to get told I couldn’t play with everyone else as a 5 year old at summer camp because I was black. I could recall every time a boy didn’t think I was “cute for a black girl,” and I could tell you about my walks home to my apartment where every day I pass by fraternity houses praying out loud that they don’t call me the n-word that day, but does any of that even matter to the majority?

My struggles don’t affect you, my anger is just apart of who I am, I’m just fulfilling the stereotype I have been given since birth, right?

The truth is, no three minute video, or 10 minute newscast, or even a newsfeed full of personal experiences could make anyone who isn’t black understand what we go through when week after week we see black males slain across concrete drenched in their own blood.

But if people would just listen. If people would just stop trying to make excuses saying “well maybe he was stealing,” or “maybe he broke the law,” maybe we’d reach an understanding, or at least start to.

 

 

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