A Love Letter to Black America

No one is coming to save us. And I know it is not our fault we find ourselves here. But I cannot reach every American heart. And I cannot untangle the sabotaged roots of our history. I doubt that I can reach any of you, my beloved community. But I want a better life for us. And I do not see a path to our salvation outside of the things we can control. Today, we can decide what matters most and what we will not tolerate from each other.

If we are, in fact, a community, could I ever justify extinguishing my brother’s life over an insult? Would poverty be a good excuse? None of us would accept poverty as justification for child molestation. And so, how could we ever allow it to excuse the gravest act of taking a life? Or for embedding such destructive thinking within catchy songs? If my love for you, Black woman, is genuine, how could I stand idly by while the thief of obesity robs us of your light, or worse, abandon you to raise our children alone? I wonder, is the only force that moves us a white villain? If so, I would bring back the horrors of the Klan if it would draw us closer. Perhaps the shadow of the burning cross is the only place we can find unity.

Listen, I cannot help who outside our tribe hears what I am about to say or how they perceive it. Regardless of their reaction, it must be said. Our priorities will determine our fate. We cannot fail to protect our children, Tyshawn Lee and Arbrie Anthony, and then fight for George Floyd or the redemption of Brandon Bernard. You see, stable homes must matter more than prison reform. Education must matter more than racist cops. Some might disagree. But ask yourselves which priorities empower us and which surrender our power to outside forces. Others might ask, “What can we do?” That question always frustrates me. We know the answers. We always did.

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