This and the blogs I’ve created before this have always been for me but I also want people to read this and understand that they aren’t alone. I’m at work. I was at work when I heard the verdict and honestly nothing changed in my office. Would I have been offended if all my white coworkers called me or came down and were happy? I don’t know. It’s hard being the only person of color in my office, but I’m accustomed to it. Elementary school, middle school, and almost all of high school I was one of maybe two other minorities and usually it wasn’t another black person. Yesterday my hands shook and my heart pounded and I was expecting them to say it. Say the words that I’ve heard over and over and over again. NOT GUILTY. How many people have massacred black people and gotten a soft charge or a not guilty. My heart was ready to hear it again. To hear the testimonies and see the crying faces and news coverage all for it to be for not and everyone fall into despair and riot and anguish. They even had the military prepared for what could come because even the state and local government knew what would be more likely the case.
This time it wasn’t. This time, for some reason, the truth was louder than the lies. Louder than the conspiracies. Stronger than the bias and false accusations against a soul who could no longer speak for themselves. He was found guilty of what he could legally be charged with. He can’t be charged with hate, with bias, with lack of care for another living soul. There’s no amount of time in a broken prison system that will make that better. That will promise he will see the error of his ways. This is accountability. I refuse to call this trial by his name because it should never be about the killer but about the victim. I want everyone to remember Floyd’s name. The trial was for him and his life was shortened. I don’t care if he was the most unhealthy person or meant to die the following hour. That police officer had no right to choose when he took his last breath. This is making sure that others know that we will no longer back down and unfortunately the cards are still in their hands. We’ve just learned to play the game better and better each round. It hurts to play the game that my ancestors were forced into. To unravel and fight these systems that are at multiple levels and overlap. School to prison pipeline. The spiral of government assistance that keeps you crippled just to maintain sustainability. The bias against the black body where you can’t do anything and not be perceived a threat. The news will still say that George Floyd wasn’t an angel but no one is. I can hear a white terrorist be called a child who was misunderstood and treated with care while taken into custody. I’m supposed to have sympathy for the white body but hate my own skin.
I am not a man. I am not a black man. I am a black woman and I am still angry. I’m not happy with this and I’m not going to pretend that I can pack it up and sleep well. My baby kicks and turns within my body and I am scared for them. Scared that my classmates' kids will be the ones to take their life one day. Whether that be medical neglect/bias, military, police, etc. I do the work everyday to remind myself that the work is not done. My husband’s life is in danger on the street and at home. Mine is in danger everyday I breathe in my birthing body. I feel some safety as a birth worker who has a midwife and a village but even then it could be me too. Men, women, and every gender in between is at risk if the body is first and foremost a black one.
The small reprieve that I got was crushed when I heard about Ma’Khia Bryant. She was a child. SHE was a child who called the police for protection. She did what she was supposed to do when she was in danger and yet she was the threat. Her life was taken the same day that man was held accountable for taking Floyd’s life. In my opinion we’ve learned nothing.