What do you do when the closest person in your life…the one you’ve shared countless laughs and tears with. The one you’ve gossiped about boys with and leaned on through the harshest storms of life with—the very one who knows your corks and deepest fears.. When that friend jabs a double edged iron sword into the core of the most sensitive parts of you with her bold assertions that Black Lives Matter is a simple scheme for the left to distract people from real concerns. That it is mere movement that gives these inconsiderate barbaric criminals incentive to destroy and infringe upon the right to life, liberty and property. I cannot explain my grief.
I am broken. I wonder if she knows that I am Black and that my heart aches for the same things her hearts aches for. I wonder if she knows that I care about those people who have lost their businesses and property. I care about those people who fear for their lives every day that these violent protests/riots go on. But I’m Black, and I don’t know if I can walk outside without some sort of lingering fear that I will be assaulted by a white man. Maybe killed by a white man, who will go in peace and face no justice…no sentence, because he is just that. A white man. Does she know what world we live in? Does she know that I am Black? Does she know how long my ancestors fought to be here? Does she know that there are still confederate statues standing tall on this soil reminding me that there are still ones who really don’t want me to be here. I am Black!
Does she know that I am Black.
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