Who Takes up the Fight When Black Men are Slain?

*deep sigh* We’re here again! We’re talking about this AGAIN! The gut-wrenching feeling of knowing another unarmed black man in ameriKKKA has been murdered, AGAIN! The feelings are often all encompassing. You stare in disbelief, thinking about how this could have been you, your friend, your brother, father, anybody! But hopefully this time it isn’t anyone you know, but the grief you feel is just as tangible as losing a loved one. You think about the disregard and disdain people must hold in their hearts for black bodies that they are so ready and willing to strip breat

h from our bodies. You wonder what on earth could anyone have done to deserve this, to be gunned down in the street, like an animal. Nay, less than an animal, because we regulate the slaughter of animals.

His face and name are plastered all over social media, what started off as the quiet murmuring about the incident, has now become an all-encompassing media tsunami, with pundits giving their two cents at t

he top of every hour. The assailant, usually a cop or some self-centered white man with the balls to exert his white privilege and perceived dominance upon someone else has taken a precious life, and now we must return to the streets. To the picketing, chanting, calls for accountability, to demand that something, anything be done to show us you care about us. We rage against the systematic racism in this country that allows for something like this to happen again, and again, and again, and again. The moment passes, the chants become quieter from those who don’t do daily advocacy work for reform. A few more advocates and activists are birthed as the list of slain black men and women grow longer. But the change we hope for hasn’t come.

*deep sigh* Until we’re here again!

Now who fights the fight for justice?

Its unnerving to think of the psychological trauma that these killings inflict upon the black community, and how it affects people who sit at various intersectionalities differently. For the black woman who has constantly been the target of rage, betrayal, deceit, and disdain by the black man, who now acquiesces to the motherly role to comfort those hurt by these tragedies

. Who will, to her own detriment, pick up the burdens of men, to hold them in high esteem, though when given the opportunity those very men will disregard her humanity and desire to be more than a pacifier. She feels compelled to take up her cross for she knows that the community needs her. They need her to be the rock! She dons cape and armor to battle for her people. She saves the world mostly alone, to return home without the warm embrace of her people, and without the respect of a warrior due to her. When do we end the cycle of this abuse on our black women? When do we elevate them to the position high above clouds where they belong?

For the black queers who have for so long sat at the very outskirts of communities plagued by insult and ridicule, but who willingly throw aside their queer identity to fight in the black united front. One battle at a time they tell themselves, falling upon swords in the name of those who do harm against them. “I’m black first,” the internal voice warns, so we must be ready at arms for anything and against anyone who threatens our black brethren. But in return can we receive the same fighting spirit to aide us in our perils? Can we not be disowned and abandoned for our truths? Truths that in no way impact others than the one’s we choose to hold dear. Can those we fight for not fight for us, or at least not harm us? Some of us live to fight another day because the thick skin we’ve developed came from the healing of many a deep scar. We go on knowing--hoping that the change we want to see may never come in our lifetimes, and some of us, through no fault of our own can’t afford to carry on this tumultuous journey.

We as a community must do better by everyone we purport to fight for, even if there struggles are different from our own.