Fifty-seven years ago, troops escorted nine black students into a newly desegregated Little Rock Central High School. Their legacy continues today.
It’s a sad day when you’re safer breaching White House security wielding a knife than walking down a street in Ferguson, Missouri or holding a toy gun inside of a Walmart.
Read that the officer who shot and killed John Crawford III isn’t being charged and that their acts were “justified”.
You can check the video for yourself, it’s online. Crawford was holding a toy gun, a customer profiled him and immediately thought “felon” paying no attention to the fact that the toy was sold in the store, Crawford was in no way being hostile and was on the phone with his son’s mother.
Police opened fired on him and now Crawford is dead. Another statistic.
Every time I watch videos like this, I feel my optimism waning. Slowly fading until the pure cynicism of “this is just how it is” finally sets in.
After the Ferguson events, stories like this are becoming numb to me. I wrote about the Little Rock Nine anniversary today, because I had to.
Not for a grade or assignment, for my sanity.
I needed to remember that there was a time when things were worse, and they got better. Over time they got better.
I needed that because honestly, it seems more fiction than ever that these things will get better.
I’ve been the victim of prejudice, it’s worst feeling I’ve ever felt. It’s isolation, it’s degradation and it’s something I don’t wish on anyone.
I’ll never forget the night of the Trayvon Martin trial. When I read the verdict in the car, from my phone, to my mom, “not guilty”.
When we got home and before she went to bed that night she hugged me and told me that she loved me so much.
Nothing seemingly out of the ordinary, but this felt different. I knew that to her, Trayvon was me. A victim of profiling, victim of predetermined mindsets.
I knew at the time, but now that moment is all that stands out to me. Garner, Crawford, Brown. Those names all in the span of what? A month? Two? Garner, Crawford, Brown.
It goes beyond police brutality to me at this point. It reaches into people such a myself having to make sure that every time we’re out in public, we’re constantly attentive to ourselves.If not, then someone could take something that we do the wrong way. What’s the solution? That’s not rhetorical…what’s the solution?
To clear my head, I used to walk the San Marcos streets and Texas State campus at 10 p.m. and sometimes later. It was calming. It was nice.
Can I still do that? No. I don’t feel safe anymore and ironically it isn’t because of the increase in crime around the city.
It’s currently 2:11 a.m. and I’m listening to Damon Albarn’s Everyday Robots. Appropriately Lonely Press Play comes on,
Arrhythmia, accepting that you live
When you’re lonely, press play
I should sleep.
Raury - god’s whisper
Can’t remember the last time I was this intrigued with an artist. Raury’s style is eccentric as hell.
"This world is a veil."