Freedom Costs Us Something

“Concerning nonviolence, it is criminal to teach a man not to defend himself when he is the constant victim of brutal attacks.”
— Malcolm X

“That’s a big nigga,” my uncle said the first time he’d met my husband at a family barbecue in Maryland.

The words resound loudly in my head as I think about how many other people see my husband and have the same reaction but just don’t say it out loud. The irony in all of it is that my uncle, the one who blurted it out, suffers from a brain injury caused by angry white men in the south that bashed him in the head with a baseball bat many years before I was born.

We talk about slavery all the time and its lasting effects, but it often troubles me even more how long the violence against Black people in this country has ensued. The institutionalized racism that more quietly keeps us in a vicious cycle of poverty and lack and imprisonment throughout generations.

Every single day, our men walk out into a world that reduces them to size and color.

As we stand in the midst of unrest in this country surrounding violence against Black people many try to reduce these incidents to respectability. Only after the photos of Christian Cooper were released did people feel even more confused by Amy Cooper’s racist phone call to the cops. “He wasn’t threatening at all,” I’ve seen people say. But when has that ever mattered?

Members of the civil rights movement marched in suits, in peace, and singing spiritual songs and still got the shit beat out of them at every turn. We must learn that much like my uncle’s comment displayed, college education or background or diction is never at the forefront of these interactions. Often big and Black stands in direct opposition to any of the other attributes our men possess in the eyes of racist bigots.

I’ll never forget the day that my phone rang when my husband was out. He picked up a friend from the airport and was dropping him off at his destination. Double parked for a moment to allow this friend the opportunity to exit the vehicle and get his bag from the trunk, a cop pulled up behind him. My husband is a pretty mild-mannered dude and yet, whatever was up this cop’s ass that day, he immediately started to berate my husband about double parking though he was not blocking the street and was only trying to ensure his passenger could get his luggage out. He was aggressive. He called him everything under the sun and all my husband could do was try to get out of the situation as soon as possible with his life. He was angry. He felt powerless. He knew that one bad decision could be deadly for him. And all that rage and anger and sadness came out when I answered his call that day.

He was near tears from being so angry and there was absolutely nothing I could to qualm his frustration. This is our reality.

I could pass the microphone around and we as Black people would all have a story. Likely multiple ones when we felt unsafe, where we were faced with unnecessary aggression to the extent of having guns pointed at your head as an innocent, or just being simply discriminated upon. How much exactly do you think a people can take?

We have come to a boiling point and what we are seeing is an explosion of that anger and that unrest that we have stuffed down for generations. We’ve been asking for equality. Asking for fair treatment. Simply asking that if we are killed in the street, the perpetrator would be processed to the full extent of the law. We are not asking anymore in this uprising.

There is a serious and lethal problem in this country and we are not the only ones that see it. Protests have erupted around the world because they also see this grave danger that is exacerbated by the idiot in office that can’t stop himself from tweeting inflammatory comments while hiding in a bunker. Imagine, how bad things must be when people are no longer afraid of a global pandemic, but walking, protesting in the streets without regard for their health. 

At this point, if you choose not to understand the fight at hand, it’s a willful choice and cannot and will not be tolerated.

When our men, women, children walk out the door. Not only do they have the burden of everyday life on their shoulders, but they also have a bounty on their head. So, if a country needs to burn to be rebuilt, then so be it.

My husband is much more than a “big nigga.” He is our universe. He is his mother and father’s child. An amazing producer, an active church member. George Floyd is our brother, Breonna Taylor our sister. We cannot sit by and be silent. Our freedom has been grossly overpaid for in blood and it’s time we square up.

This article has a comprehensive list of bail funds in cities across the country. Consider donating.