It literally causes me pain when I see American soldiers going into other people’s countries far away from here in the name of fighting terrorism. My mind screams, the voice that few people get to hear yelling, “What bout all this terrorism OVER HERE? How bout we fight THAT?”
Yes. Yes! You heard me right. Every day of our natural lives black and brown people experience domestic terror. Every time we see the police, we experience the fear and horror of people on other continents driving up to military checkpoints. We say to ourselves, “Is this the day that I run into a cop who hates/is afraid of/ has serious prejudices against people who look like me? Is this the day I die?”
See, this isn’t some new thing. We have been terrorized for a long time. The shipper runner. The auctioneer. The slave owner’s wife. The overseer. The fugitive slave catcher. The confederate soldier. The pattyroller. The White Knights.The Daughters of the Confederacy. Cointel Pro. The FBI. Your sons and daughters anytime of the day. The Police. Terrorism in the USA has been ongoing for hundreds of years. You have taken your viking ancestors’ tactics of plundering and war and created an art form designed to keep people who do not look like you in a place of fear and therefore subservience and oppression.
It pains me, my fellow Americans. I allow it to break my heart. Because in order for my heart to not harden with pure hatred, I have to let it break. In order for me not to engage in retaliatory behavior, I have to press my face into pillows and weep.
You cannot continue to show favoritism among the children you have created, America. One day, the children that you hate so much, treat so poorly, damage, and sometimes kill, will grow up. You will swing your hand to slap for the last time, surprised and dismayed when that child (who is bigger than you and stronger than you right now) catches your arm, looks you in the eye, and says, “Enough.”
You cannot continue to turn a blind eye to the sins of your sons and daughters, America. The earth will not continue to drink the blood you allow them to spill without the land becoming too toxic to produce good fruit. Every time you stand idly by, you condone the violence that will one day consume us all. The spirit of Cain always results in loss and exile, the undead proclaiming their curse to everyone who comes close.
I do not presume to know the outcome of America’s fixation with murdering black people for no reason; what I DO know is that nothing good will come of it, least of all the breaking and hardening of hearts in sorrow and in hate. And one day, the privilege that allows one group to kill others without consequence will bring its own ugly result. I pray that we’ll all be ready for what that might be.