Woke up to another tragic welcome. A Black man was shot multiple times for being Black.
His Black girlfriend recorded what went down. Her 4-year-old Black daughter watched the whole thing happen.
She is already being punished for being Black.
The video that captures the dying Black man shot by a White cop in front of the dead Black man’s family was playing while I pounded the treadmill with all the residue of a very angry Black woman.
It showed up without warning.
Listening to Michael Jackson convince us that Billie Jean is a damn liar — I was confronted with the lies of a country that would do anything in the name of White Freedom.
Nobody cares about Black Lives.
We should retire #BlackLivesMatter and find something else. Anything that carries over from “Matter” to “Fighting Back.”
Because that’s what we must do. It’s time to relinquish the formalities and strap up for a civil conflict that is only being initiated for the protection of the future.
Black warriors that are being born and bred to fail unless we win the present match in the court of our discontent.
The death video plays in the background of repurposed entertainment. As shock simmers through my chest — I hold on, so my legs don’t stop moving.
The images of the Black family demolished by another White mutant — was simulated into a well-packaged variety show.
We see it all and it looks so real that it could be — but thank God it’s scripted!
The Black man slumped over with dials of red unceasingly moving around him. The narcissistic White cop who hides under a veiled attempt at disbelief. The girlfriend using her phone as a weapon of proof of why driving with a Black man and your Black child isn’t a great idea.
The blood looks so real it’s freaky.
Everything else is well executed and depicts the Black experience flawlessly.
I look around and every one else seems to accommodate the short film showing the death of a Black man as if it’s a remake of a movie they’ve already seen before.
Nothing new. Nothing uncouth enough or frightening enough to stop you in your tracks.
I didn’t stop.
I was thrashing my feet against the belt of the treadmill as if each step would release me or undo what cannot be undone.
The exercise of shooting Black people for the gawking pleasure of immune assholes is the reason why we need to calculate how many more death videos it takes to decide that #BlackLivesFightingBack needs to be kicked into gear.
We deserve to drive into the sunset of our years with pride and the assurance that our Lives Mattered enough to Fight Back and conquer the enemy of our times.
It’s been a long time comin.’