My Silence Serves No One

A journal excerpt in the aftermath of the killing of George Floyd

Almost one year ago, George Floyd was killed. In the days after his killing I found myself turning to my journal. With protests breaking out, with reports of people dying from the coronavirus, and the world in a state of chaos, I was afraid and found myself looking around, perhaps for some kind of emotional first aid or comfort. Truth is that many of us were in the same state of fear and hurt. Many were also in a state of silence. Among my black friends and family, we talked about George Floyd and the silence of some of our white friends. I noted that of my white friends who were most vocal, almost without exception, they were in mixed race relationships or had biracial children or grandchildren. I had one white friend, who posted online about anti-racism, and she took a moment to make sure I knew that she was an ally. I will never forget her courage. I also had to find some courage of my own. Eventually, like many, I took to the streets in my mask to protest in the midst of a pandemic. I did not, do not, want to live in a world where depraved individuals tout their untouchability by taking lives in broad daylight. George Floyd. Ahmaud Arbery. Breonna Taylor. Atatiana Jefferson. Stephon Clark. Philando Castile. Sandra Bland. Tamir Rice. These are just a fraction of the names of lives lost. Each of us has to decide not only where we stand but how will we lend our voices, or not, to the cry of equal human rights. We can pretend to ourselves that saying and doing nothing is self protective. It is not. Silence is only a service to delay the moment of realization, perhaps too late, that it will never keep us, nor our loved ones, safe.

The journal excerpt below is raw, unedited. The photography is also my own.

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May 28, 2020

This coronavirus lockdown living is wearing on but a new urgency has taken the hearts and minds of Black America. The killing of George Floyd has caused looting and burning it all down in Minnesota. I saw a comment online about how corporations have looted $400,000,000,000 since the pandemic hit. In my opinion, if no one has anything to say about that, then the anger toward black people who are tired of being killed in the streets should not phase them.

I am so heart broken today. All the tragedy I see and the trauma I see on my social media timeline is too much to bear. I have wept when no one is around. I’m afraid to show my tears for some reason. I don’t know why. 

The trauma of what is happening in our world today will leave lasting scars. So many were already suffering mental health problems from the pandemic and now add to it the violence of black bodies killed in the streets. I feel like I need to do something but I’m afraid to act. Also, I’m afraid for my white friends to see a pro-black me. Why? My silence serves no one.

My silence serves no one.

I watched my black brother’s neck 

Crushed

Under the knee of a system

That cares not for the black man’s humanity

I watched as my black brother called out

He told his story in pleas

He told his story in statements

“They are going to kill me,” he said.

“I can’t breathe,” he said.

How long was that cop’s knee on George Floyd’s neck?

Seven or eight minutes according to the short sighted.

The knee of white America.

The knee of the police state.

The knee of wars.

The knee of poverty.

The knee of capitalism.

Have been on the necks of 

Black Americans

For a lifetime

At least 400 years.

Yet in the aftermath I am afraid

To call out to my white friends.

I’m afraid to ask, not the abstract white,

Who we holler out to on the internet

On the news

In history

I’m afraid to ask my white friends

That I sit across and break bread with

To fight for me.

And my kind.

The problem of the respectable 

Negro like me is that

I am afraid to lose my 

Respectability

My privilege is that I have

Been invited along the

Illusion of the American Dream Ride,

And I cling to its 

Comfort

Its tree lined streets

Its clean air

Its clean water

Its dense housing is far from me.

I live in spacious quarters

I can hear the birds sing

But I am alone here.

I am not invited to a place where my white friends 

Think of my sacrifice to be here without others who look like me

Just to be closer to the economic promised land

As I sit in silence looking for a sign 

That they will speak for me.

They don’t.

But I myself am silent too.

My silence serves no one.

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