Black people in America, who have for the last four centuries not known what it was like to live without the crushing weight of racism’s constant burden, are using their bodies once again to mount a visible protest that strikes at the heart of white America’s most visceral fear: the upending of white supremacy and its weaponizing of racism.
White supremacy has, for the last four centuries, readily killed black people in the equivalent of their Sunday’s best dresses, tailored suits, hosiery, and socks, just as it dears to kill on today’s phone cameras and live-streaming social media—all without losing stride.
In exchange, white supremacy demands that black people satisfy their thirst for freedom with sips from sorrow’s bitter cup.
White supremacy demands that black people speak right, look right, walk right, drive right, live right, grovel right, and even that we die right.
White retaliation happened when black people faithfully prayed and endlessly hoped—even when white supremacy made us want to holler.
