The Call (for Michael Brown & Other Casualties)
A mother grieves.
A father is left brokenhearted. A city is divided. And a nation waits with baited breath to see
how it all turns out. All of this after
an 18 year old man-child is gunned down on the streets of America by those
whose car tags say “Protect and Serve.”
But who, in actuality, are they protecting? For certainly it is not those of black and
brown skin in this land, as time and again we are racially profiled, falsely
accused and almost always assumed guilty until proven innocent….if we are ever
given a chance to prove that innocence.
As the lifeless body of Michael Brown, lay shot and uncovered in the
street for hours, the people were met with aggression and intolerance by law
enforcement, as our rights to gather and for peaceful protest were
ignored. Our first amendment rights
ignored, then violated.
The message was clear: You are not welcome here. Your
life has no meaning. Know your place. You are expendable. No matter what we do to you, accept it and
don’t raise your voice against it. You
are just another nigger and don’t you ever forget it. And we heard it – loud and clear. It’s message traveling through the airwaves
like the sound of light. To a nation it
said: Wake UP! To a people it said:
Things have not changed, no matter how things appear on the outside.
We have become complacent. Confused even. From the time of our entry into this land
through the hundreds of years leading to the Civil Rights Movement, as a
people, we knew our place. We were under
no misconceptions that we were looked at as less than second class
citizens. That our road would be
harder. That no matter what we had, how
much wealth we amassed, we were still seen as worthless. We understood how to navigate this world we’d
been thrust into, born into. We
understood the necessity of sticking together as a people. We knew that we were not safe. We knew to look within and to each other for
help. We knew to keep our hands laced in
the hands of God for wisdom and for protection.
But somehow we’ve forgotten. Perhaps it was the ability to live in their
neighborhoods. Or maybe it was the
openness we could flaunt our interracial relationships, marriages, children. Who knows….maybe it was being able to
assimilate their schools, work alongside them or join their exclusive
groups. Oh….perhaps it was being able to
spend our hard earned dollars in their stores, helping them to amass a
fortune. Whatever it was, it’s like we’ve
forgotten that underneath it all, no matter how calm things appear on the surface,
we are not them.
Our recent successes have clouded our eyes, made us
think that our degrees made us better than the mother on welfare. Our good diction and ability to speak the
king’s English set us higher than our more flat or “ebonics” speaking brothers
and sisters. Our fancy clothes, spit
shined shoes and 401K’s made us think we were better than those who made their
living on the streets of urban America. Hidden
behind stock options, corner offices, initials behind our names and McMansions,
we have forgotten that there is an entire system in place that is not meant for
us. Was never meant for us. Oh don’t get me wrong. I am not in any way
saying that we should not work for and desire a better life. That is certainly not my point.
It started me to thinking. Why is there such hostility between blacks
and whites? Specifically, why are black
people targeted and consistently mistreated by white Americans in this country? Why the double standard? And it hit me like a ton of bricks. Because we were brought here as slaves and
they never expected to have to deal with us as equals. As we know their system, their plan lasted
for generations, hundreds of years.
Since the Civil War and our supposed “freedom” that it granted us,
they’ve been trying to re-enslave us one step, one person, one system at a
time. It makes me wonder are we
oblivious to what is going on right around us?
The overall plight of my people in this country
breaks my heart. Again, I find myself
asking, don’t we see? The same drugs we
are catching convictions for are the same drugs they infiltrated into our
communities. Shall I remind us that we
had no boats, planes or other means of being able to get that stuff here? But they played on our poverty and lack
knowing that at some point the survival of the fittest would kick in and folks
would be willing to sell father, mother, sister, brother, neighbor, and child
to make a fast buck and give themselves a chance to rise up. Even if it meant destroying our families, our
communities, and killing each other to stop their individual suffering.
Through it, they have managed to put us back in a
form of slavery – this time instead of selling off our sons, brothers and
fathers, now they kill them, we kill them, or they are incarcerated, leaving
yet another generation to have to fend for itself. Through it, they have managed to take even
the mother figure and have her working so hard at so many hours there is no one
to raise her children or she gets hooked on the very substances that infuse the
fiber of urban living. Another generation is lost – this time to incarceration,
our children being put in a completely inept foster care system, more poverty
as young women have babies out of wedlock with no fathers to help raise
them. Despite our successes, none of us
is immune to its effects.
For a while we were complacent. Comfortable even. Now the unarmed teen running to the store
murdered for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and the famed historian
arrested by cops at his home share the same story as the female professor
groped on the campus streets where she worked like a common whore and the
unarmed man choked to death while handcuffed on the city streets. And the common denominator is their
race. No one is off limits. We can no longer convince ourselves that it’s
“their problem.” As a people, it’s our
problem.
It’s time to put aside the petty differences of
territory; of she looked at me wrong; of he stepped on my shoe and disrespected
me and realize that we need each other.
There is no demilitarized zone.
This whole attitude of us four and no more, and “I ain’t looking out for
the next man” is the very division that is used against us to defeat our own
people. Any of these scenarios could so
easily be me, you or someone that we know.
It’s time to get back to the basics of community. Of unity.
Of togetherness. It’s time to bring about a change that says life is so
much more than the labels on our backs.
Am I my brother’s (or sister’s) keeper?
You bet I am, and so are you.
It’s time to look each other in the eyes and acknowledge our shared
struggle. It’s time to get back to
loving each other. We can accomplish so
much more unified than we can as independent agents.
The call has sounded…will you hear the call and come
to action? For all the ones we’ve lost in the struggle, let’s not let their
lives, their stories, their deaths be in vain.
To the parents of Michael Brown and all the others
whose stories never make the news, we feel your pain. Our hearts grieve the loss of life, just as
yours does. You are not alone.
Changing
lives one word at a time….Tumika Patrice Cain
_______
Tumika Patrice Cain is an award-winning author, media personality,
and motivational speaker. Through her imprint, Inkscriptions Publishing &
Media Group, she provides high quality, affordable, mentor-based publishing
services to indie authors, as well as inspired, empowering messages of hope and
abundance through her media outlets. Her works can be found in many
publications, including Fresh Lifestyle Magazine. To learn more about Tumika,
her books, and her services visit the following websites. http://www.TumikaPatrice.com
and http://www.InkscriptionsPMG.com
