Every man of humane convictions must decide on the protest that best suits his convictions, but we must all protest. -MLK
Protests. This word carried much weight in the latter part of 2015, evoking emotional responses and heated debates between friends, loved ones, acquaintances and social media frequenters. Social justice advocates declared that we were in a revolution. The skeptical questioned if these gatherings were necessary and actually impactful. The optimists argued that mere social awareness was a success. The unbothered pretended no one was talking.
The clock strikes 12. My body is present in the new 2015 celebrated in with champagne toasts and a freshly dropped ball in Times Square brought to my couch via television satellite magic. My mind has been teleported to 2012- “our first real date.” I had just returned back to where everything is bigger, eager to slip out of the blanket of panic I wore hours early due to a delayed flight and into a dress fit for the downtown festivities to come.
This would also be the first time I would be a part of the cliché ringing in the year in the arms of someone who loved you- or in our case, someone who was going to grow to love you. Although we didn’t symbolically kiss when the fireworks sounded, I was wrapped in your arms. The crowd around us was large, yet the moment still seemed personal, only interrupted when the rest of our friends joined up with us. Moments later, we rode the bus home with me asleep on your shoulder. The perfect ending.
I’m a woman, phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That’s me.” –Maya Angelou
Beautiful is my favorite word in the English language
It towers bold and triumphant
Not needing clarification
Welling up from within
Reaching from the depth of a soul
Pouring fluidly from cracks and pores
Becoming transparent in actions
Making it a description, one’s character trait
I can’t imagine being in a parent in that room, onlooking a video screen which depicts my daughter along with more than 250 others Nigerian young ladies whom bear statuette grim looks on their faces. The heads of the daughters are adorned in morbid grey scarves that mirror the bleakness of the situation. These parents feel happiness to have visual proof that their daughter is alive, yet bear heavy hearts at the realization that their daughter, who a month ago was in school finishing exams, is now a prisoner to the terroist group Boko Haram.
The National Institute for Justice and Centers for Disease Control and Prevention reports that one out of every six American women has either been completely raped or attempted to be raped at one time in her life. They institute also finds that over half of these rapes will not be reported. Of those reported, only one out of four cases will lead to an arrest. If that’s not gloomy enough, only one out of four of those arrests will lead to an incarceration.
You had no way of knowing a bullet would have pierced your body the night of Feb. 20, 2012 causing your last breaths to escape from your body, your chest to rise and fall for the last time and your heart to no longer produce the rhythm of life.
All you wanted was some skittles and tea.
When I hear an African American child say with a matter-of-fact tone that Martin Luther King Jr. freed the slaves, I can’t help clutch my heart with distress. The ignorance of black history is disheartening. However, hearing from our own youth is downright painful. I can only imagine that this lack of knowledge stems from the fact that we, as a community, have just become lazy with our teachings.
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,900 times in 2013. If it were a cable car, it would take about 48 trips to carry that many people.