While still contending with a global pandemic, I read about yet another lynching. Like so many before it, this too was committed by men in blue. Over the past few months, I have seen too many video accounts or read way too many headlines listing black men and women either being assaulted or killed for things such as: not social distancing, not wearing a mask, or speeding, or jogging, or sleeping in their own bed.
Today, while hoping that the worst thing I had to deal with, was deciding on where to position my laptop for a Zoom meeting; I see yet another account of a white woman calling the police on a Black man because he asked her to put a leash on her dog (in a area that requires dogs be leashed, no less). While still shaking my head at that nonsense, I see the post of the latest lynching.
I don’t know why the cops pulled him over. Truthfully, I don’t care. I can’t think of a reason that would warrant his death. His death, albeit murder, was the result of cops kneeling on him… one in particular, took a knee to the neck of the handcuffed man. As the officer continued to put his full weight on the Black man’s neck… as other officers assisted or stood by and watched for what has been now recorded at 8 minutes and 46 seconds; the man repeated, “I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.” His name was George Floyd.
Today, while sharing a recent account of personal discrimination with my family, my sister offered, “I don’t get it. I don’t understand it or them, and I’m tired of trying with them.” I so understand what she means. Racism is exhausting. Teaching folk how to treat you when they go out of their way to not see you as equal, or even human; is tiring. Oh, so tiring and I’m having a hard time breathing and a hard time trying to care.