It was literally the least they could do.
The very least human dignity should be able to expect.
I told a friend yesterday that I was “overjoyed” for the family and friends and loved ones, but that was a lie. I was trying to muster up some elation, even just some relief. This is good news, right? I should feel that, right?
But I don’t. Because it was literally the least they could do.
Auntie Zora says if we’re silent about our pain, they’ll kill us and say we enjoyed it.
That’s how they get us, you see, tossing out picked-over scraps from the bountiful table they call “justice” and then expect us to shuck and jive in joy over what we’ve been found worthy to receive.
They’ll even beat us dancing: “Look! What a relief! Let us celebrate together in unity!”
Translation: “I abetted your destruction. I’m not sorry. But whew, I did the bare minimum to stay ahead of the game as always.”
For them, I will not celebrate. I will not absolve. I will not find relief.
For us, I will take this small moment of victory. Find grateful joy. Recharge to fight another day.
After all, that’s how the ancestors got us this far. That’s how we’ll get our descendants to where they are/will be.
It was the least they could do. But we’ll see to it they do more.
Dedicated to Brother George Floyd, his loved ones, and all of our own who have lived, loved, and murdered.
At The Intersection 