Remembering Trayvon Martin


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By Ella

I read NAACP’s “Trayvon’s Law”

I don’t know, brotha man… no one knows, really. Mostly, I just wonder what your voice sounded like –when you weren’t pleading for your life. We’ve all heard the screams, whether we wanted to or not. Some better than others, as it usually goes. You never knew me while you were here, but I’m sure that, as you sit beside our maker, you know me better than I know myself.  With that said, I suppose I’ve owed you, but I’m at a lost of words. The only time I don’t know what to say is when I can’t figure out what to do –because I don’t know how to feel. I still don’t understand why a man who committed murder isn’t behind bars. My mom passed one thing to an undercover once and got 2 years. She was just trying to feed three kids and pay two mortgages. I guess it depends on who you consider more human. 

I don’t want to talk about much. I don’t want to talk about racism because they weren’t allowed to in your case. We have a Black president now, so “racism” no longer exists in this country. Everyone is a liberal – in their ideals and their use of bullets. I don’t want to talk about police brutality because I don’t want to talk about police. I don’t respect them, therefore, I can’t trust them. I can’t say I understand why any neighborhood needs three suited and armed officers on each corner, all I see is cops walking in and out of corner stores, spending my tax money and running their hands down the pants of the men I know –in an attempt to emasculate the greats. Every day, I see them hiding behind subway elevators, peering through the glass for the chance to snatch up a teenager being a teenager while black so they can finger print and track him for the rest of his life. Animals in the wild. If that’s not it, you tell me what they’re hunting for, hands glued to their revolvers. I’ve always hated cops everywhere, but in Brooklyn, they far outnumber the roaches.

How do you control a uniformed, government funded gang? Where are the goodfellas? They’ve been posting more signs for rewards for information on shot cops… but if you’ve ever had the luxury of residing in the hood, you know the only way to make rodents scatter is to flash the lights and make some noise. I’m actually not quite sure how or where you grew up, Trayvon… but if you didn’t know what it was to deal with rodents, unfortunately, you know how it feels to be one. 

         I don’t trust that world, so I’ve decided to commit to my own. 

“You prolly like them dark or whatever,” Antoine guessed correctly. 19, light-skinned and riding a bike up and down the block, my for the moment dog-walking partner was trying his hand at getting my number.  I took it as a compliment but the only thing I had against him was… everything. A couple of years ago, he’d have gotten my number. I might even have made him take me for a spin on his handle bars, but Antoine was just a couple years too late. I don’t know when I stopped liking them to look they’re supposed to – light skin wavy hair. I’m not sure it was even a conscious choice. I had spent so much time arguing with Black men about not liking “dark” women (and therefore not liking their mothers or future daughters) that soon fell in love with the idea of what my sons will look like. I aim to have sons who look just like you, Trayon, more or less. I haven’t gotten much farther than understanding that in order to care for them, I’ll need land and a library (for their sanity) and a secret room storing my 2nd amendment rights (for my sanity). “What do I do with my sons?” I asked my mother after those cops killed

Kimani Gray

. My mother is a fair-skinned Dominican, and so was my brother and sister’s father. Myself, the daughter of the brown-skinned, Cuban ex-patriot, am the only one in my immediate family to resemble the earth herself. My mother knows all about raising spicks, but the only experience she has with niggers is me. We’re lucky I wasn’t a son. I decided that if this country prefers to hunt my sons rather than protect them, then I must protect them myself.

Gun Control

is only the answer is we hold the government accountable to the same laws as it’s people. If not, then the people are being oppressed by their leaders, not lead.

America is a control based on a history or leeches, sucking what they can out of the host then pretending it never needed them.

What the leech fails to realize is that without that source, it would have (and soon will) die. We’ve gotten ahead of each other in all ways. We are a country based on betrayal and going against our word. The settlers founded this country in response to religious subjection and unfair taxation imposed by England, but when current Presidential debates are based on tax-cuts and increases, back with religious sentiments and closed with a prayer… you tell me if any ocean is wide or deep enough to drown hypocrisy.

It’s not just the Caucasians y’all, it’s us melanin-consumed folk, too.

We fail to understand each other –not because we don’t, but because we prefer not to.  We abandon one another. We have no faith. We fail to

care

for one another. Whoever anyone dates isn’t my business, but deciding not to date a person who resembles you, because they resemble you seems to be a form of self-hatred in my book. It’s also qualifies you as a detriment to your race *shrugs* What hurts me

most,

Trayvon, is that not only will my sons look like you, but their father will be America’s most likely criminal. He’s currently the epitome of a “gangster” and America’s poster boy playboy. They tell me my man will never love me, he’ll never value me… and that he probably won’t be there. And if he happens to prove them wrong on those accords, they’ll station police officers with itchy trigger fingers in unmarked cars at the intersection of any streets he’s ever walked. When they see my kings’ strides, they’ll reach deep in their pockets for their egos and emerge with nothing but cold steel, anger and fear. They will react like cowards do. Like women who confuse our men’s fears for deceit and promise them loyalty they’re afraid to give themselves. If I’m blessed a house full of boys, they way I’d prefer it, what is going to keep me sane every time they step out of the house? God, I guess. 

   I suppose, there is nothing to do, expect love my brother better.

As a human, as a sister, as a woman… as a Black woman. I am his keeper, especially when no one else has the strength to be.  I know all Black men aren’t weighed down by this. I know all Black won’t submit themselves to the cause. I know that most injustices are only felt by a minority, so the majority won’t even understand. I know most won’t agree no matter how right I am. I know there ain’t a boycott or petition large great enough raise a young man from the dead – to give a mother her son back. There’s no need to bash another excused murderer or grant him the honor of having a name in his strides in the name of America’s institutionalized systems of racism and prejudice.

     So, Trayvon… and to the others by your name and walking fearfully in your steps, I’m here as I have always been… trying to manage the evil workings ingrained in the world, treading carefully, preparing the path for those to come & praying for the promised day. There’s nothing I can really do besides that. Just pray the world will change & understand it’ll take more time than we’d like.

Sorry it took me a while to speak with ya… Rest in peace, homie ❤ 

Ella.

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