#BlackLivesMatter…to some people…

I am so tired of this.

I could cry a river right now.

First, it is breaking news that the jury in the Randall Kerrick trial is deadlocked and is seeking advice from the judge. Defense wants the judge to declare a mistrial. State wants the Allen charge enacted which encourages the jury to continue deliberating to reach a decision. Then there is breaking news that Mansur Bell-Bay, the black teenager that was killed in St. Louis on Wednesday, died from a gunshot wound to the back. Supposedly, he pointed a gun at officers. However, the only “witnesses” that saw this gun were the officers. All other witnesses said the did not have a gun.

I am dumbfounded over the fact that there are people on the jury of the Kerrick trial who actually think firing 12 bullets at an unarmed man is not excessive. Mind you, at least six of these bullets were fired AFTER Jonathan Ferrell, the victim; a black man, of course, was on the ground.

This hurts. And I want it to stop but I am not sure it ever will. Every trial, every case, I hold out hope. Just praying that this is the one time our lives really do matter. That there will be people who look at the black life that was taken and say no this is not right. Not simply because the person is black but because it is not right. A law was broken and those who broke it should be held responsible.

I am frustrated. I am hurt. I am sad. I am angry. I am scared. I am so tired of this.

But I do not know how to make it stop? How can I change these narratives? What can I do that will really make a difference? Probably the question I really need to ask is will it matter? Will it matter if I protest? Will it matter if I sit down and have conversations about officers using excessive force? Will it matter if I call out those who somehow always find a way to justify these wrong actions?

As a sister, aunt, cousin and friend, I pray constantly for my brothers, nephews, cousins and friends. I know these people. Very well. I have known most of them my entire life. I love them. They are my support system. They make me laugh. They make me smile. They keep me encouraged. They go above and beyond for those they know and love. And even for those they do not know. They have families. They have dreams. They have people who depend on them. They are law abiding citizens. They are people who would give their life for me.

Yet, none of this may matter if they ever cross paths with an officer who sees them as nothing more than a “threat” who must be eliminated that day. That scares me.

I try not to think about it but it is hard. Very hard. I am sure Eric Garner did not wake up preparing to die that fateful day last summer. Nor did Freddie Gray. Or Tamir Rice. Or Michael Brown. Or Sam DuBose. Or Jordan Davis. Or Trayvon Martin. Or Oscar Grant. Or Mansur Bell-Bay. Or Jonathan Ferrell. Or Rakia Gray. Or Sandra Bland.

None of them got what they deserved.

But Dylan Roof got a Burger King Value Meal. And Darren Wilson got to go home. And George Zimmerman got to open a shop and sale confederate paraphenalia.

And Randall Kerrick just went home knowing he probably will not be tried again for killing an unarmed black man who had just gotten into a wreck and was seeking help.

I just want to it stop because I am tired of crying.

 

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