Black Lives Matter

Hello World!

If you are uncomfortable talking about race, racism, and the fact that black lives matter, this post isn't for you. This month has been rough with the deaths of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery that were recently either brought to light or in Floyd's case took place this week. On top of that, I finally am watching "When They See Us" on Netflix. So you could say I am having an overload of information, emotion, and feeling. I am numb. I am scared. I am angry. I am confused. I am concerned. I am so many things at one time it is confusing. The one thing that rings true through my ears is that Black Lives Matter.

This makes me think about the first time I truly experienced what it was like to be a black student in a predominantly white school (with actual understanding). I was in fifth grade. I remember it like it was yesterday. We had to bring in an artifact that was significant to us. I brought in a bear that my parents had named Junior. I don't remember the first sentence that started this interaction, I can tell you that it ended with me being called a monkey. Yes in 2007, at 11 years old, I was called a monkey. Now, at the time I knew something was off, I didn't get it, why was I called a monkey? I went home that day and told my mom what had happened. If anyone knows my mom they know that she can be a mama bear, and goes in for her children when she needs to. She was livid, she told my father when he had gotten home from work and told him what had happened, and he was also livid. The issue was brought up to my fifth-grade teacher Mr. Launer (shout out to him!). He handled this situation with grace, the two boys who called me a monkey were told what they did was wrong and that they owed me an apology. He didn't stop there. He explained why it was wrong, why it was hurtful to me, and how it should never happen again. Instead of a half-behind apology that was forced, I feel like I got a sincere apology that was filled with a sense of understanding.

That wasn't the only time I was aware of my blackness in a predominantly white space. I was used to microaggressions. I was used to smiling at saying like "you're one of the good ones", and " you speak so well". Growing up I beamed with pride, I was a good one. The older I got the more I realized that my blackness was only allowed in the spaces because I wasn't "that black". Honestly, I let a lot, and I mean a lot of things slide growing up, I didn't want to be seen as an "angry black woman", because once that happens ears are turned off, and people don't listen even if you're in the right. I got to a place where I was angry and ashamed of myself. I was held to a higher standard, I unwillingly and without consent was the spoke person for my race. Which is something that is completely unacceptable and isn't something I wish upon anyone. It is unfair, is unjust, it sucks.

Another example of living in a predominantly white space was when I was stopped by a cop outside of my residence of 16 years at the time. Someone I do not know called the cops. I was locked outside of my house and was very tired after working a long shift at Ruby Tuesday's. I left my house key inside my house (of course), and I called my sister to let me in and she was fast asleep. The next thing I knew a police officer had parked outside of my house and approached my front door. He shined a flashlight on me and asked me if I lived at MY house. I answered yes and that I had left my house key inside and was currently locked out of my house. He didn't ask for my ID, and asked me to call my sister one last time to see if she was awake and could vouch for me. I couldn't get her on the phone because well, it was three in the morning. He asked if I had someplace else to stay and I replied that I could go to my Aunt's house. I was confused because I was wearing my work uniform, a red button-down, blue jeans, black clogs, and an apron. I was confused as to why anything about my appearance would be threatening but as my sister said "it doesn't matter what you're wearing as long as you're still wearing brown skin". That rings true, I was a threat. I was angry, I had the same car that I had always driven for the past year and a half, so my neighbors knew my car. They knew me. I was trying to make excuses in my head for something that wasn't my fault. Why did I feel the need to apologize for being myself? For being at the wrong place at the wrong time when it was my home? I regret not getting the officers' badge number. I regret not calling my mom to have her vouch for me. But you know what I was scared of. This happened months after Sandra Bland's death and I hate to say this but I was afraid of being another hashtag. So I did what the officer wanted me to do. I wonder what would have happened if I didn't comply, would I be okay? How would my life be now?

Why am I always afraid of being "too black", "too threatening", or not being seen as "one of the good ones"? Why do I have to shrink myself down to make others feel comfortable? As Ta-Nehisi Coates wrote to his son, “You are growing into consciousness, and my wish for you is that you feel no need to constrict yourself to make other people comfortable". Why do I have to constrict myself to make others feel comfortable? W.E.B Dubois talks about the idea of "Double Consciousness". Seeing yourself through the eyes of others. Why is something written in 1903 still applicable today? Why do I have to move with consideration of how others will see me? Why do I have to worry about how I dress, walk, talk, and breathe? Why, why, why why?

People shouldn't have to say that Black Lives Matter. They should matter, they should have always mattered, and they should continually matter. Why does it take protests to open the eyes of others. Why does it take movements to get others to hear us, see us, acknowledge us? This instills fear in me and the future children I will have. It makes me think of my cousins both male and female and how they move about the world. I fear for them, I pray for them, I hope for a better world for them. The main point or question should be what can we do? What can you do? If you are not Black stand with us. Help us create spaces where we can speak our truth and be heard. Help us rise above the noise and be heard. To my fellow people, you can do what I do (if you want) and tell your fellow friends, family, significant others, etcetera, that you love them. Don't give up hope, I believe in my heart that one day the hashtags will end, one day Black Live Will Truly Matter. One day I hope we'll look back on this in shame and embarrassment and use it as a catalyst for change in the future. I love you all, You Matter, and Your Life Will Always Matter to Me. Thank you for taking the time to read this. I love you.

Another day as an adult (who has a glimmer of hope)......damn,

Tasha