I broke quarantine after 11 weeks to take my kid to the D.C. protest yesterday. She felt helpless and I didn’t want that to turn into hopelessness, and I was so proud of her and those other young people for peacefully protesting and marching. My husband and I have worked so hard to protect our girls, and yet on those little devices they hold in their hands, they can watch a man be murdered in broad daylight. Imagine that? Imagine my girls and their giggly friends, together, watching George Floyd call out for his mama as his neck is crushed. My God. When we allowed Trump to enter the highest office in the world and spew hate, what did we think would be the result? Love? Togetherness? On the backside of 100,000 dead from Covid, nearing 30 percent unemployment, underfunded healthcare, an insulting $1200 stimulus check, food banks depleted, children still in cages, and years of unjust state killings, imagine the hopelessness and the rage these kids feel? Imagine that they’ve been telling us they need to get out from under school debt and the gig economy, they want a decent minimum wage, to be able to live in a safe and affordable neighborhood, and not be killed by the police for jogging, walking, birdwatching, driving, playing…..? And we do nothing. On our way into D.C., I told my kid about the first time I was harassed by the police, my friend thrown against a squad car, though the 4 of us were only 15 years old and taking a walk. But I didn’t tell her about the time a policeman put a gun to my head, not because I’d done something wrong, but because I need my kids to trust that some are good and true and trustworthy. These contradictions are what we parents of Black children must balance every day. “You are good, but they don’t care if you are good,” we say. “You haven’t done anything wrong, but they’ll believe you did. Your friends can do that nonsense, but you can’t.” I’m not interested in proving my humanity on-demand anymore, and if I have anything to do with it, my kids won’t do it ever. As Chris Rock once said there are some professions where a few “bad apples” aren’t acceptable. Pilots and police officers to name just two. I laughed at the time, but imagine going to the same restaurant and once every so often a rat crawls across your sandal while you’re eating? The manager tells you, “It’s the city, it happens, we’re doing our best.” How many times do you think you’d let that slide? You might post about it on Yelp, tell your friends, report them to the health department. You’d want something to be done, wouldn’t you? A few years ago a man who played with a little ball for a living, knelt on the sidelines of his little field and lost his livelihood. No one wanted to hear that young man’s SILENCE. They wanted to watch the little game. Now the kids aren’t silent anymore. They’re not playing any little games anymore.
Lauren Francis Sharma’s book is available for purchase here.
