Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said, “Our lives begin to end the day
we become silent about the things that matter.” The racially charged murders of
countless Black Americans in the past few years have sparked a social revolution
with millennials, and with reason. We’ve had enough. We are tired. WE MATTER! What do we have to do to prove this? How loud do we have to shout it for you to hear us?!
The phrase, “Black Lives Matter” has given the movement a name. To the brown faces of America, this phrase is a declaration. It
loudly exclaims that we deserve to merely exist
in a society that was built on the backs of our ancestors with no intention of
seeing us survive. Here’s the problem. Outside of Black America, it’s not a
declaration. It’s a question. A consideration, even. Oh, Black lives matter? Well, how
much do they matter to me?
This occurred to me as I observed that many of my non-black
friends didn’t care to pause their daily kale and quinoa Instagram
posts to acknowledge that disheartening things were happening in the world.
They were seemingly scrolling past my posts on current events in regards to
racism without so much as a blink of an eye, let alone a like. Yes, that sunset
you captured at the top of Runyon is gorgeous. But it’ll be there
tomorrow. Michael Brown won’t.
Eric Garner won’t.
I can’t help
but wonder why so many of the people that show me love in real life suddenly
have nothing to say. It’s almost as
if we live in an alternate universe, where the Black people who are dying
aren’t Black people like me. Here’s the deal. I am not an exception. People are
dying. People who look exactly like
me! I am not special. I am Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, and Mike Brown. If they
gunned me down, the media would be likely to choose the picture on the left over the one on the right.
So who’d help me if I were in a situation where I really had
to prove that my life was important? Am I worth speaking up for? I matter, but
do I matter enough? Do I matter enough to call out your
family members and friends on their racism? To call out the store clerk who
thinks I’m stealing?
Part of respecting me means breaking your silence. Here’s
what you do, friends. Yes, I'm talking to you. Realize that this is not about you. All lives matter, but we’re talking about the Black ones right now. Reject the idea that
I’m the “good” kind of Black girl. Identify, acknowledge, and speak on injustice
as it’s happening. Even if no one hears me scream, someone’s likely to listen
to your whisper. Don’t be afraid to have the unpopular opinion. Boom! You’ve
gone from an asshole to an ally.
It’s all love over here. If I matter to you, all Black lives
have to matter to you. It’s not a
question. Next time, speak up. And say it with your chest or you can’t sit with
us.
Signed,
Your Not-So-Token Black Friend
T. Nikki Paige
Follow @iNatashasNook
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