May I Have A Word with My White Brothers and Sisters?
My mother participated in race wars in high school. Some of my aunts and uncles are identified as “Negro” on their birth certificates. My oldest uncle spent the rest of his life in prison for something he did in his teen years. He never killed anyone. He fostered many African children abroad with money from his books. In the late ’40 to early ’50s, my maternal grandmother walked dirt roads in the countryside to get to school each morning, as white men and women did and said the unthinkable to her and her siblings. The only image I’ve seen of my maternal grandfather depicted a large military man. It contradicted my mother’s recollection of her father being much smaller than he appeared in the picture. My mom’s assertion is that he was given clothes to fight in that were two to three sizes larger than himself. This is a reasonable conclusion, given Negroes received scraps to wear while they served in the military. In the early 1900s, my maternal great grandfather and grandmother were farmers in Fayetteville, TN, surrounded by white neighbors.
I missed the Rodney King incident by three years. I lived through racial tensions in the ’90s and educational disparities that divided many of my black schoolmates; many who were fully capable of advancing to the next grade, if they’d had educators who cared. I used late ’80s textbooks in the early 2000s. I lived through the 2003 studies revealing how African Americans, with or without a criminal record, received less callbacks for employment than whites with criminal records (https://www.eeoc.gov/laws/guidance/section-15-race-and-color-discrimination). I lived through the countless discoveries of common white names generating more requests for job interviews at most places of businesses than black applicants with equally impressive resumes and credentials.
I learned of the Jena Six through the Michael Baisden radio show providing nationwide airway coverage of the incident. It was the soundtrack to my ride back from middle school. I’ve heard Reverend Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson eulogize funerals for black men and women who’ve died at the hands of hatred. I saw the first African American President be sworn in as the 44th POTUS in 2009 and again in 2013.
Currently, I live through COVID-19 where, although African Americans have the highest fatality rate post contraction, we adamantly refuse any potential clinical vaccination. The effects of the Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment (https://www.cdc.gov/tuskegee/timeline.htm) that began in 1932 but continued for the course of 40 years, lingers.
I share the universal space with living civil rights activists who’ve marched with MLK Jr. and been bruised and beaten in the streets getting into “good trouble.” Yet, they still carry the torch in breaking barriers for Black folks. Prominent leaders like Harry Belafonte, Angela Davis, Alice Walker, Andrew Young, James Lawson, and so many others continue to fight the “good fight.” I’ve shared universal space with activists who’ve died, such as CT Vivian, Nelson Mandela, John Lewis, and Chadwick Boseman in my time. They were more than just a reading; they were a living example until their last breaths.
Furthermore, Blacks become hashtags every day. This list is incomplete because more get added every day — Natosha “Tony” McDade. George Floyd. Breonna Taylor. Yassin Mohamed. Finan H. Berhe. Sean Reed. Steven Demarco Taylor. Ariane McCree. Terrance Franklin. Miles Hall. Darius Tarver. William Green. Samuel David Mallard. Kwame “KK” Jones. Devon Bailey. Christopher Whitfield. Anthony Hill. Eric Logan. Jamarion Robinson. Gregory Hill, Jr. JaQuavion Slaton. Ryan Twyman. Brandon Webber. Jimmy Atchison. Willie McCoy. Emantic “EJ” Fitzgerald Bradford Jr. D’ettrick Grifin. Jemel Roberson. DeAndre Ballard. Botham Shem Jean. Robert Lawrence White. Anthony Lamar Smith. Ramarley Graham. Manuel Loggins Jr. Trayvon Martin. Wendell Allen. Kendrec McDade. Larry Jackson Jr. Jonathan Ferrell. Jordan Baker. Victor White III. Dontre Hamilton. Eric Garner. John Crawford III. Michael Brown. Ezell Ford. Dante Parker. Kajieme Powell. Laquan McDonald. Akai Gurley. Tamir Rice. Rumain Brisbon. Jerame Reid. Charly Keunang. Tony Robinson. Walter Scott. Freddie Gray. Brendon Glenn. Samuel DuBose. Christian Taylor. Jamar Clark. Mario Woods. Quintonio LeGrier. Gregory Gunn. Ariel Denkins. Alton Sterling. Philando Castile. Terrence Sterling. Terence Crutcher. Keith Lamont Scott. Alfred Olango. Jordon Edwards. Stephon Clark. Danny Ray Thomas. DeJuan Guillory. Patrick Harmon. Jonathan Hart. Maurice Granton. Julius Johnson. Jamee Johnson. Michael Dean. Jocques Clemmons. Daniel Hambrick. Sandra Bland. Elijah Mclain. Rayshard Brooks. Stephon Clark. Jacob Blake.
I am 26. I experienced discrimination for the first time in a sandbox in Cedar Hill Park. I’ve been attending marches since before I could walk.
Why am I sharing this? It’s simple but I’ll extend my daily questions to you for you to try answering, or at least think about.
How long should Blacks endure? When will Blacks be enough? How many more Black names must become hashtags before the truth is nationally acknowledged about the life we’ve had to, and continue to, live as African Americans? No one likes to have generations of anguish. We want a fair chance at advancing in life without entering life in a deficit. This system doesn’t work for us. It’s time to reconstruct. It starts with you.
Note that while you decide which side of history you’ll sit on when this is all said and done:
I carry my ancestors with me at ALL TIMES. Their deaths WERE NOT in vain. I WILL vote. I WILL take a stance, even if it KILLS me.
I am UNAPOLOGETICALLY BLACK and PROUD.
Your decision may end my life, but I’ll die knowing who I am.
I am Tranyce.
Works Cited
The ACLU Racial Justice Program aims to preserve and extend constitutionally guaranteed rights to people who have historically been denied their rights on the basis of race.
