The Foundations of Emotionally Healthy Activism: Prayer

One cold January night at 1:30am, a woman screamed “somebody please help me” in the middle of my block in Jackson Heights, Queens. It was loud and desperate. I got up to see a man from our 2nd Floor window grabbing her violently. I put on my pants, grabbed my keys and ran out while my wife called 9–1–1. As I made eye contact with the man and he realized that I was not going to leave, he moved away quickly. Then, I spoke directly to the young woman. “The police are coming and I’m not going anywhere,” I said. She was obviously distraught and I tried to remain calm.

Then I realized, the police were coming and I was not leaving.

The police were coming and that could be very bad for me.

Tamir Rice didn’t even get to speak before he was shot. If I reached into my pocket to get my phone, would I end up like Amadou Diallo?

I could have been killed while my wife watched from upstairs and my sleeping daughter was awakened by the gunshots that killed her father. And all of this because I was perceived to be a threat, instead of the one who called for help because of the color of my skin.

As the blue lights came up the block and the officers emerged, I put my hands up with my arms wide and said with a smile, “thank you so much for coming.” I updated them on the…