During the Storm — 08/10/2020
It’s difficult to find the words to explain how I feel about the Chicago Riots that happened Monday morning, or any riot for that matter. As a Black scholar, my psyche moves like a pendulum between two points of view, constantly in opposition with each other. In addition, I find it hard to sympathize being a victim of police brutality myself. Point blank, people are angry, and it is an universal feeling. How many more deaths are we to face on both sides of the law, while its upholders do little, if anything, about it? A broken window can be replaced, but the system itself still stands as a testament to America’s racist views.
Unemployment rates continue to rise, and African Americans are dying in the streets. Classism still abounds, hidden by passive aggressiveness. What else is there to do but fight when peace is not our ally? We are also grossly affected by the COVID-19 pandemic where almost 170,000 people have died in the United States alone [As of June 11,2021, this total has increased to 596,059]. I myself am a homeless PhD candidate living at a men’s shelter governed by a police state, the most “miserable” city in the United States of America.
I think back to Angela Davis during the Black Power Movement attempting to explain to a White journalist whether she approves of violence during the midst of a revolution. I think of Mumia Abu-Jamal, who still sits in a jail cell for shooting Daniel Faulkner, a White police officer, while defending his brother, William Cook. I think of Rodney King, who inspired the LA Riots after he was beaten by LAPD officers in 1991. I think of Amadou Diallo, who was mistaken for a rape suspect and fatally shot by four plainclothes cops in 1999. I think of Fred Hampton, who was killed sleeping in his bed next to his pregnant fiancée. I think of Steven Biko who was beaten to death by state security officers. I think of Trayvon Martin. Sandra Bland. George Floyd. Breonna Taylor. The list goes on and on through various periods of our history.
This system stands as a marker for principle, one that destroys people who look like me, people who are invisible fighting to be seen in the light. Maybe it’s best to be silhouetted by the night, and less illuminated by the Sun. I wonder my nieces and nephew. My cousins and their counterparts in Generation Z. Are they doomed to repeat what my generation and our ancestors endured throughout history?
Are what our ancestors fought for just a memory-removed like the statues of Christopher Columbus?
Even when “Blacks Lives Matter” is screamed by millions throughout the world, the darker hue still suffers the most. Why?
