This is my black son. If someone – anyone – put their knee on my boys’ necks for 9 minutes while they were unarmed and handcuffed, two minutes passed the point when their bodies had been so deprived of oxygen that they slipped into death, I’d burn it all down. I’d storm buildings. I’d riot and scream. I’d rally my community to storm with me. I’d do it every single day until justice was served for my child’s precious lost life. You know you would too.
White people: when you look on at these videos of these black men dying – aghast – and say you “can’t imagine” having these things happen to your sons: IMAGINE IT. Imagine your white baby begging to breathe, in front of a crowd of people filming it and calling out for his release. Imagine that. Seriously. Imagine having your white sons’ murder being filmed and the person murdering him feeling so confident in his position that even a crowd and a camera does not phase or deter. Imagine your white son calling out for you, his mother, as he died while a police officer ignores the value of the remainder of his human life. And when you imagine this and sit in this disgusting imagery and you feel your gut fill with bile burning at the thought of it – KNOW YOUR PRIVILEGE. Because we, as white bodies in this country, have the privilege of having only had to imagine this. How sick it is when feeling safe is a privilege. But here we are. White people have the privilege of not fearing their white children being callously and unapologetically murdered.
The protests you see – all those people and their anger? They’re burning it down because their children have been callously and unapologetically murdered, on film, in front of crowds. Over and over again. No privilege of just imagining such atrocity for them. This is what it looks like – protests, riots, looting, anger – when you’ve been told your life, your child’s life, doesn’t matter and no one is fighting for you. This is what it looks like when you need to be seen and heard. You’d do the same for your white babies. If you had to. Lucky you, though. You haven’t had to.
Not one more. Black Lives Matter.