This is an essay supposedly about the importance of Black rage for Jordan Davis and other Black children and all I can feel is this soul-numbing sadness. I have become an ostrich in regards to court cases involving Black children: I stubbornly refuse to read any articles or to acquaint myself with the circumstances until the sands of time have run out and the verdict has been reached. So while most of America formulated their opinion months ago, I procrastinated.
Catching up on the news this week rendered me hopeless. My hands are as empty as the space at the Davis family’s dinner table. My thoughts scatter like buckshot every time I attempt to wrap my mind around the idea that someone can shoot you in a car, cause your death, and theoretically not be punished for that specific crime. Most days I can find the nuance in seemingly gray areas–but this is black and white. Racism.
Jordan Davis was a unique Black boy but I feel déjà vu looping me into a cyclical nightmare. My heart has been here before.
And it’s only a matter of time before we are here yet again. Because racists will keep killing our children as long as they believe it is their right to do so. As they have always done. And wading in a river of sadness will never do any permanent good. I have a feeling that those who hate my people would love nothing more than to watch us drown our sorrows in a chorus of “We Shall Overcome,” while the someday we await never happens.
Early yesterday morning, pop star Justin Bieber was arrested for driving under the influence. After swerving recklessly around the world for the past few months, the 19-year-old finally did what the public expected him to do: crash. When child stars “go bad,” a certain class of apologist emerges, explaining away the stars’ actions as the […]
Last Friday, Justine Sacco killed her career as a public relations officer with just 75 characters. But 75 seconds’ worth of reflection could have saved it. Okay, I’m lying. The amount of wrongness in the tweet shown above could not be rectified by a minute’s pause; she truly needed the benefit of all her 30 […]
Prelude: Is Kanye a puddle or an ocean? I am a Kanye West fan. I once thought that Kanye West’s classic “Jesus Walks” meant that he would become hip-hop’s savior from all the ills that kept me from loving it in totality. I now understand that hip-hop itself will never be a vehicle for its […]
This story is alternatively titled, That One Time I Almost Fought a Racist Grandma. She was taller than me, but I think I could’ve taken her. Thanksgiving dinner saw my little family take a drive down I-20 to see relatives in Columbia, South Carolina. There is little to do in Columbia outside of shopping and wearing […]