Am I Next?

I wasn’t going to publicly say anything because in some ways I feel that it has already been said.

How many times does a black man have to say: “I am not trying to hurt you,” “I am not threatening,” “I am not evil,” “I CANNOT BREATHE!”

It just seems like as many times as we plead, scream, cry, protest, “convert” to what “they” think we should act like, degree ourselves, reach professional heights that our ancestors could only dream of… we are still senselessly murdered for being black in America.

I repost on my Instagram stories, post on my social media platforms, retweet stories and comments. But today, I felt like I needed to say more because what white Americans won’t read or hear is when our mothers, fathers, grandmothers, grandfathers, sisters, and brothers call us in hysterics pleading for us to stay in the house, to avoid large crowds, to remember how to “speak” to police officers and to stay safe. Every time a #JusticeFor___ is revealed, as a young black man in America, I get these calls. I get the nervous stomach when I walk down the street. Why? I am not a criminal. I have two higher education degrees. I grew up in an affluent all white neighborhood. On paper, I’m non-threatening, over the phone one can’t tell the difference between me and another 24-year old white man. But at the end of the day, I am still black. I am still a target. I cannot achieve enough to escape that my skin color deems me less than them.

As a child, I used to feel complacent in my blackness. I was comfortable being the token black or the “nigga that we don’t have to keep our eyes on.” But not anymore…

Why did I feel that way? I don’t know.

It took me vocalizing my experiences to realize that I did not understand my blackness could be a ticket to an early death. My epiphany came during my first moments at Morehouse College around the time Trayvon Martin was killed. It reminded me of my first recollection of being stopped and frisked at a local Pasadena gas station for walking in and out because they didn’t have the car freshener I wanted and the time I was detained because I was one of four young black men in a luxury car at night. It forces me to review my entire existence and wonder about the other times that I was blind to the fact that I am being profiled and judged because of my skin color. Do my experiences equal the fatal experiences of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, and the other countless black men and women that came before them—no. However, it showed me that I am not an exception. In the eyes of white supremacists, we are all targets to be hunted.

I am tired. We are tired. My family and my friends are tired. My people are tired.

During a worldwide pandemic, black people are still dealing with the pandemic that we have suffered every day since the existence of America. In today’s time, whites are afraid of catching COVID-19. Black people are afraid of catching COVID-19, on top of being murdered by the police, additionally the prospect of being arrested for nothing, as well as fear to run through our neighborhoods from the possibility of being shot down, and the list goes on! Imagine the constant anxiety that streams through black bodies to just live our lives peacefully.

We have to work 10x as hard to get half of what they have and that is still taken away from us. Why can’t we live like their children live? What have black men and women done to deserve to be hunted, imprisoned, used, tortured, and deemed as inhumane? It’s a question that has an easy answer—nothing. Who is next?

Is my friend next?