Worthy.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
This, along with the cries of his friends, the last sound Jordan Davis heard before slipping from this earth. 10 shots fired. 9 hit the car. 3 hit Jordan Davis. The circumstance in this case? Loud music. Jordan Davis. Trayvon Martin. Jonathan Ferrell. Renisha McBride. The circumstances are different in each case. They took place in different parts of America. But the thread that seems common among all the assailants in these murders is fear of the black body.
I warn you in advance. The verdict just came and I am a flood of emotion. This is me ranting and raving. I have no intention of doing anything other than sharing my broken heart tonight.
I imagine that if all I knew of black people came from the defendants in these murders, I would be left to assume that black people are absolute monsters. I mean monsters, like the fantasy kind. You know the ones that can pick up cars and throw them across city blocks. The kind of monsters who can scale buildings with superhuman strength. The kind of monsters who posses an unnatural form of power- the kind gained only by chemical reaction, abnormal genes, or a science experiment gone wrong. If all I knew about black folks came from these cases, I'd believe that black skin comes with an aggressive gene. A suspicious gene. A murder gene. Be afraid. Be very afraid. I didn't know, but apparently black people just can't help but be violent. So stand your ground. Be prepared to shoot. Arm yourselves. Get us before we get you. And this is important. It is important that all these young black bodies are monsters, because we don't mourn monsters. People who kill monsters are heroes. I don't watch many cartoons these days, but I'm pretty sure thats how it works. Monsters die and we celebrate the hero who slayed the beast.
But here is the thing. These kids seem awfully normal. Walking down the street. Knocking on a door for help. Seeking out the police. Playing loud music in the car. Didn't I do these things as a kid? Don't I do them now?
But this is different contends the gun-toter. These kids did bad things. They slung their jeans low. They smoked. They drank. They cursed. They listened to rap music. These were not ordinary kids, these were those infamous gangsters ready to take my life in a moments notice. I could tell. These were bad kids.
And as much as I want this to matter. As much as I want to separate myself from the fate of these children, I cannot. I know no child saints- black, white or any other color. I know kids who make mistakes, who experiment, who get into trouble. I know kids who speak out of turn, who are disrespectful, who are angry. I know kids who get suspended and expelled and go to rehab. I know kids who get bad grades and make the day hell for teachers. I know kids who take a long time to mature, to learn from their mistakes, to make better choices. In fact, I hear there are a lot of adults who have these same struggles. But black kids don't have the luxury of immaturity.
Black kids must be saints. Must be angelic. Must be Jesus.
I want to scream to the world tonight, that black kids are precious. They are beautiful. They are full of life, of creativity, of soul. Black kids are bursting at the seems with potential, with possibilities. Black kids are made in the image of God. Black kids are made in the image of God. They carry within themselves the capacity to love deeply, to give generously, to hope eternally. They could change the world, if only we would let them live. Black kids laugh. They LAUGH. They cry. They scream. They smile. Black kids experience emotion because they are human. They.are.human.
Black babies are not immune to the experience of life. They are not immune to mistakes or anger or frustration. They are not immune to peer pressure or instagram or clubs. They are not immune to friendship or media or hip hop. They are not immune from car crashes or walking or needing the help of a stranger. They are not immune, and they shouldn't have to be.
Black kids should be able to live without needing a defense. They should be able to mess up, to ask for help, to go to the store. They should be able to talk back, to curse, to play loud music. They should be able to do all the things that other kids do without fear of losing their lives.
Why are the stakes so high for kids who look like me?
Why are the stakes so high for kids who look like me? Why are the normal things of life so costly.
Why are the stakes so high for kids who look like me?
The best quote I've heard tonight following the Dunn verdict came from Joshua DuBois, he writes on twitter, "I want young black men to know: there is nothing wrong with you. You are worthy of protection. Of care. Of love and of life."
I echo this statement.
Black kids- boys and girls- are worthy. They are worthy.
Black folks are not monsters who need to be stopped. We are your sisters and brothers. We are members of humanity, carriers of divinity, lovers of life. And we deserve to live.