Two days in the aftermath. The conversation just started. What do Blacks need to do? As if this is our bed, and we have to make it. We handcrafted the base boards and foundations for free, but still can’t lay down and enjoy the reverie of what this country should be. “March? Protest! Vote.” Is it madness? To want better for generations of future passed down blessings to our Black and Brown babies, yet to be scarred by generational traumas and the constant spectre of Death because they are judged not by the content of their character but by the color of their skin.
Waiting on a prophet to save us when all the prophets of the land say we have to save ourselves. Not a bad thing, but a thing to reckon with. What should we do? Stop cutting Uncle Sam his checks? It won’t solve everything, but losing 2bill might make them think twice. Put all Black money into community? All won’t be solved, but it could save a Black life. Give every colored man and woman a gun? The law might get scared, but a white boy won’t think shit’s sweet walking into our communities with AR-15s and wet dreams of picking off the strangest, yet most beautiful fruits you may ever see in the produce aisle of your local grocery. Find us some property and build community away from those who cast stones? Can’t stop them from coming, but having the peace of mind that we all strapped and my brothers and sisters got my back and together, our homes will be defended.
“Nah, Black folks can’t get organized like that.” “We’re not a monolith.” No, we are not. We are not a monolith of vice or stereotype of toxic generational pains that make us like crabs in a bucket. Monoliths like that can’t build community, but a monolith built of love and mutuality with purpose overflowing, can build a city on a hill to be safe haven for all who have been played like a fiddle by Uncle Sam’s band.
We either do that or leave the country. Because we tried and tried and tried to play the game their way, until our way became their way, in near perfect parallel, except the addition of an ingredient called empathy. You can only do it so many times. Definition of insanity. If we become insane and gain control, all we do is change from patients to administrators of this bizarro world we call America.