we are NOT ok.

I've tried to reason my way out of this...feeling. I've tried talking it through. I've tried sleeping it through. I've tried ignoring it. I've tried.

But the truth is I can't deny it–none of us can and quite frankly, none of us should.

I am NOT ok.

Black people are NOT ok.
America is NOT ok.
Our world is NOT ok.
And we haven't been okay for a long time.

I've contemplated what I would write or if I would write anything for a little over a week. And still have no idea, really. I've asked a plethora of questions in regards to how I would use this space to talk about what has happened and still very much so what is happening...

Would I try to come up with a solution?
Would I present a deep history lesson into America's 400-plus year love affair with racism, social and racial inequality?
Would I present a map on how to navigate social and racial inequality?
Would I offer thoughts and prayers?
Would I offer hope?

But how do you offer hope when you are NOT hopeful?

And to be honest, at first, I didn't feel hopeful; I felt trapped.

I felt trapped–in this black body in this country that profits and flourishes off of systemic oppression of brown and black bodies that look just like me.

I felt enraged–after a white friend texted me and asked me how I was doing as a segue into asking me to be a part of a documentary they were working on to talk about the grief, longing, and loneliness that we "all are feeling" in "these times."

I felt defeated–because there's a good chance I will one day have to raise a black son, and even 10+ years later after all of this, I may still have explain to him why not all police officers will look to serve and protect him because of the color of his skin.

I felt scared–scared that the next time I get pulled over by another white cop that my growing rage would shake me into a public anxiety attack–giving that white cop the justification to shoot and kill me because I was a perceived imminent threat.

The day George Floyd was murdered by a white police officer, I was pulled over by a white police officer about 500 yards from my job. I was going I believe 52 in a 40. I didn't notice anyone trailing me, but as I put on my turn signal to switch into the turning lane, I noticed a black SUV pull up next to me on my passenger side. Less than 10 seconds later, that black SUV was behind me, flickering lights.

"He knew I was black," is all I can think about now replaying that night in my head.

Thankfully, I carry my wallet and registration very close to me when I'm driving, so I wouldn't need to reach for anything when he approached my car.

PRESENT NO IMMINENT THREAT.

I tried my best to conceal the anxiety attack that was welling up in me, and in a low-level and still voice, I answered all of the officer's questions.

STAY CLAM; SAY, 'YES, SIR...NO, SIR.'

I performed all the steps my parents taught me as a kid when we had "the talk"–no, not the one about the birds and the bees. The one about how to survive driving while black and getting pulled over by a police officer.

KEEP YOUR HANDS ON THE STEERING WHEEL.

While the officer went to run my plates and whatever else he felt he needed to do, my hands stayed still on my steering wheel, as my legs beneath me were shaking uncontrollably. I tried to relax–took deep breaths and reminded myself that it's almost over.

MAKE IT HOME ALIVE.

I walked out with a warning and a, "Drive safe." *Deep sigh*

Thankfully, there was no, "Hey, do you have drugs in this car," like a cop a couple of years ago asked me after he called for back up–before learning that I worked at the TV station a few miles up the street.

I've been pulled over six times in the last four years, and each time the giant of anxiety grows larger than it was before. And I've feared the outcome of having an anxiety attack during an encounter with a cop–even as the daughter of a police officer–because I am Black.

AND THAT IS NOT OK.

About two weeks later, and hundreds of protests around the world–demanding justice for George Floyd and those like him–resulting in some major corporations and companies taking a stand for social and racial justice as well, I'm a bit more hopeful.

But I am not unreservedly sold on the idea of hope.

And that's because America has to have an explicit conversation about its relationship with race, class, and injustice in this country. America needs to succumb to its sin and abide by the convictions of its sins–that it has long denied and condemned. America can no longer rest comfortably in its bed of lies–made by its founding fathers and its founding principles–without addressing the lies it willingly has been in an affair with for centuries.

RACISM. 

The history of racism in America dates back more than 400 years ago–frankly before the descendants of Africa were kidnapped from their land and forced here on slave ships. But 1619 is where America will tell you "black history" begins, and honestly, that's where many Americans today still believe they can limit the humanity of black people to–the inhumane ownership of black bodies and the disregard of valuing black lives.

We saw that clear as day on Memorial Day, May 25th in Minneapolis, Minnesota, as a white police officer murdered unarmed George Floyd–a black man viciously killed as that white police officer put his knee into George Floyd's neck as George Floyd pleaded for that white police officer to stop, as George Floyd yelled out, "I Can't Breathe."

George Floyd was a father. A brother. A fiancé. A friend.  A HUMAN BEING.

But he wasn't seen as one. Instead George Floyd was seen as invaluable and the white police officer who killed him proved that's what he saw. That white police officer proved that when he saw this black man, he did not see a human being; he did not see value. He saw something disposable that he had to get rid of. And even if it were caught on camera–even if him committing murder were caught on camera–even if there were bystanders of him disposing what was of no value to him, he knew would be protected. Because he had a shield. Because he was a police officer. Because he was white. Because he was a white police officer. Because he was a white man.

Because America has always protected him and white men like him; America and the systems it has stood on since 1619 were built to protect white men like him.

WHITE PRIVILEGE.

So, now what?

Another black man was killed–among the other black bodies of men and women removed from humanity at the hands of police officers protected by a system America has upheld.

Will justice ever come?
Will America ever admonish its racist lineage?
Will racism ever be given a seat at the table–among whites, among blacks, among immigrants, among, the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free?

Will America ever live up to its slogan of being the land of the free and home of the brave?

If you ask me, it has.

It is the land of the free–the beneficiaries of America tyrannical institutions who live unbothered and unshaken by its oppressive systems, and the home of the brave–the descendants of the sacrificial lambs who built this land for the free and are valiant in their efforts to stand up and eradicate oppression.

THIS IS AMERICA.

But it doesn't have to be.

And I pray that it won't be–because George Floyd deserved better. Breonna Taylor, Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Sean Bell, Sandra Bland, Philando Castille, Tamir Rice, Trayvon Martin, Jordan Davis, Laquan McDonald, Oscar Grant, Walter Scott, Botham Jean, Atatiana Jefferson...they all deserved better.

My future children deserve better.
My people deserve better.
I deserve better...than just not feeling ok.

To my people–my family–my beautiful Black People: I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU.

YOU ARE VALUED.
YOU ARE MATTER.
YOU ARE WORTHY.
YOU ARE HUMAN.

To my white brothers and sisters: do your job–EDUCATE YOURSELF. It is not enough that Martin Luther King Jr. is your "hero," that you celebrate MLK Day by doing some service projects, and that Kanye West is your favorite rapper. This isn't a matter of black or white; the core of this issue is a humanity issue–your ancestors, family  members and maybe even you not seeing black people worthy of their own humanity. While you may not have created the systems of oppression or racism, sis, you sure do benefit from them. That is called white privilege. But there is something you can do with that privilege to help humanity: use it eradicate these oppressive systems and have the race conversation that needs to be had at Thanksgiving dinner over your mom's green bean casserole. 

To the Church: we as the body of Christ can no longer excuse ourselves from this issue or the race conversation. I've heard the term "racial reconciliation" about a thousand and one times over the last few weeks, and while it may be used with good intention, I can foresee it becoming just another cool phrase or "hot button issue." If we're going to be hopeful about a change in our world, we have to be intentional about not just what we are preaching, but how we are living out what we are preaching as well. Let's not use the gifts and talents of our black members and praise them every Sunday in the name of diversity, yet Monday through Saturday you wouldn't think to fight for those same black members you use on Sunday if you saw them being abused. We cannot claim that we love GOD, but not truly love all of His people (Mark 12:29-31). Racism is a sin, and it must be unmasked from the back pew of the church all the way to the front pulpit and church administrative offices. Don't be talk about being GOD's church–actually be it. And that may even mean cutting your financial and communal ties with organizations and companies that do not support ALL of your members. 

America, you are the only home I have ever known. I have tried being patriotic. I have tried pledging allegiance to a flag that wreaks of the bloodshed by my ancestors so that your flag could wave high, while you stomp on the necks of my people. I have tried to sing your song, but its lyrics only spoke of the atrocities and injustices you so proudly parade. 

America, I have tried to love you, but you have never loved my black skin back. You have only fought 

One of your sons once said, "Ask not what your country can do for you–ask what you can do for country." Well America, my people have given you enough–we have given you our work, our music, our art, our dollars, our athleticism, our grit, our heart, our bodies, our lives, our humanity.

You have looted us of everything we have, America.

AND THIS IS NOT OK.