{"id":18872,"date":"2020-05-29T15:14:18","date_gmt":"2020-05-29T19:14:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/phpstack-508129-1620562.cloudwaysapps.com\/?p=18872"},"modified":"2021-03-18T14:32:58","modified_gmt":"2021-03-18T18:32:58","slug":"we-are-dying-because-of-the-fears-of-white-people","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lilith.org\/2020\/05\/we-are-dying-because-of-the-fears-of-white-people\/","title":{"rendered":"We are Dying Because of the Fears of White People"},"content":{"rendered":"
\u201cI\u2019m not Black, I\u2019m Jamaican.\u201d Following in the tradition of many immigrants and first-generation Black immigrants, that was the tune I sang for most of my adolescent life.\u00a0 I ran from my Blackness. My mother came to the United States seeking a better life. Until she stepped onto U.S. soil, my mother had never known a country where you could be shot and killed just for existing.<\/p>\n
And then, over 21 years ago, the NYPD shot and killed Amadou Diallo. 41 shots. His death cut my family deep because, like my mother, Amadou had come to this country for a better life, only to be gunned down. I was nine years old when I realized that no matter what, the world would see me as one thing–Black. I remember then having dreams that I was Amadou, trapped between the police and a closed door.<\/p>\n
Those dreams resurfaced again when the world learned (two months too late), via video, about the lynching of Ahmaud Arbery<\/a>. Two white men followed Ahmaud, who was jogging, and shot him dead. The night the video came out, I had a dream that I was Ahmaud. I was visiting a small town, filled with white neighbors and a town sheriff who taunted me with the n-word and homophobic slurs. I can\u2019t quite remember why I was visiting this town, but I remember wanting to fly home. In my dream, I knew that once I got home, I would go running because I loved running. The dream jumped and I was flying home to Georgia. As soon as I got home from the airport, I laced up my running shoes. Suddenly, the dream ended.<\/p>\n I woke up in tears, covered in a cold sweat. I was angry. I am still angry.<\/p>\n \u00a0My anger is a manifestation of my inner child still trying to reconcile the questions I had after Amadou Diallo was killed. How many ways can one country message, through the media, through interpersonal acts of racism and violence, through state-sanctioned violence, that it does not want us? Why are white people so afraid of my Black skin? When will living in this Black body feel liberating and freeing, instead of terrifying? When will this country acknowledge this pain? When will we have to stop running on the wheel of white supremacy? When will we be able to breathe?\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n I am exhausted, too. All the Black people in me are tired. Collectively, Black people are tired. We can\u2019t chill in a Starbucks<\/a>. We can\u2019t run down a street at night. We can\u2019t run during the day. We can\u2019t get into an accident and knock on someone\u2019s door for help.<\/a> We can\u2019t be too loud in our joy<\/a>. We can\u2019t be too Black. We can\u2019t go birdwatching<\/a>. We can\u2019t say \u201cI can\u2019t breathe\u201d and expect to live<\/a>. We can\u2019t be. We are murdered and blamed for our own deaths. We are tired of running. Tired of being told that we are not enough. Tired of constricting ourselves into tiny boxes. Tired of screaming “Black Lives Matter\u201d at the top of our lungs. Tired of mourning and grieving those we\u2019ve lost \u2014 those lost to gun violence, those who\u2019ve slipped through the cracks in our society, those we\u2019ve lost to COVID-19. We are tired.<\/p>\n My liberation is tied to your liberation. I want collective liberation. I need collective liberation. I need to feel free in this Black body.\u00a0 Black and Indigenous People of Color (BIPOC) need the time and space to dream, heal, and rest.<\/p>\n