Hashtags On My Heart: When Will It End, America?


“Justice will not be served until those who are unaffected are as outraged as those who are.”

I know every name. I know every hashtag. From Jordan to Tamir to Philando. They are not just a social cause, or a reason for outrage. They are people. They are faces. They are someone’s Gordon. They are future Matt Kemps. 

They are men,  boys,  taken too soon as a result of the legacy of segregation and prejudice that is still so ingrained in our lives. Even worse than just their deaths, is that their mothers have to bury them with some white people still seeking reasons and excuses of why they had to die.

What is it about black men that makes some of you so fearful?  It’s just been my experience that when I needed a friend, the hand that reached out to me was one of various shades. Is it that some have no experience with darker skin so they fear it — or is it just that ever-present need by some to only feel superior when there’s a person of color that they can look down on?

Philando Castile mattered. An elementary school employee since 2002 who is being mourned right now by an entire elementary. All that cop saw — a dark-skinned cop, at that — was dreadlocks. Was a “gangsta.”  Was a “thug.”

Whose fault is that, America?

All of ours.

Mr. Phil mattered just like those five officers in Dallas mattered.

Let’s honor them now: Brent Thompson;  Lorne Ahrens;  Patrick Zamarripa;  Michael Smith; Michael Krol.

Here they are:

God bless their families.

They are as important — no more, no less — than men like Alton Sterling. The difference is that while the entire nation mourns those officers who bravely gave their lives to keep order in what was, up until that moment, a joyfully peaceful protest, there are those seeking justification for why Alton deserved to die.

I mean, he should not have lifted his head up, right?

Right, white people??

If all you hear in the protest anthem “Black Lives Matter!”  is an exclusion of white, you’re the reason we all — especially white people — need to keep saying it.

Philando was someone’s Gordon; someone’s Zander; someone’s Trey.  (All children from my world.) Why, dear God, why are there those who still just see skin?

Black lives DO matter, white people.

And we, as a nation, are without fathers, sons, officers, and citizens this week in a raging battle we have to end. Love to all colors, professions, and people. 

And, mostly, to my fellow pasty peeps:  Black lives DO matter, y’all!


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