An Open Letter From Ferguson Protestors and Allies (10.17.14) We are living an American Horror Story. The unlawful slaughter of black bodies by the hands of power has continued day after day, year after year, century after century, life by precious life, since before the first chain was slipped around black wrists. Black youth, brimming with untapped potential, but seen as worthless and unimportant. Black activists, stalwart in pursuit of liberation, but perceived as perpetual threats to order and comfort. Black men, truly and earnestly clinging to our dignity, written off as the ravenous, insatiable black savage. Black women, always unflinchingly running toward our freedom, dismissed as bitter and angry after long denial and suffering. Not one group of us has been spared from the bullet or the beating, too many armed only with our Blackness, left to live this American Horror Story. The story has come alive once again in Ferguson. Ours were the bodies, the strange fruit that swung from the poplar trees. Ours were the bodies, the motionless forms stretched out in the street for 4.5 hours. Ours were the bodies, left to be seen to rot as warnings against being too uppity, too confident, too bold, too free. Ours were the bodies, served up as notice to remain humbly and quietly in our place, never to awaken America’s fear of Blackness. It was Emmett’s body in Mississippi. Little Aiyana’s body in Michigan. Amadou’s body in New York City. Travyon in a Sanford gated community. Jordan in a Florida gas station. Jonathan’s body on a North Carolina road. Renisha’s body on a Detroit front porch. John in an Ohio Walmart. Ezell on a Los Angeles sidewalk. Eric’s body on a New York corner. Mike’s body on a Ferguson street. It was names and bodies that we will never know in cities and towns across this land. In every main street and dark corner of this nation, Black people are unsafe to breathe, walk, speak, lead, move, grow, learn and be without the distinct possibility that our blackness will be seen as enough weapon to justify the taking of our lives. Our education doesn’t save us, for Mike was on his way to college. Our respectability doesn’t spare us, for men and women were lynched in three-piece suits and Sunday dresses. Our innocence doesn’t protect us, for little Aiyana was only seven years old when the officer’s bullet struck her down. We are living an American Horror story. From every corner of life we have assembled, time and time again, to demand we turn the page. Time and again we were met with militarized forces that unlawfully tamped down on peaceful action and peaceful people. That we must keep emphasizing the civil nature of our disobedience and highly organized struggle is but another moment in the myth of the so-called Black savage our country seems determined to pen on us. We are despised for our struggle for freedom, despite learning it from those patriots at the Boston Harbor who cried “give me liberty, or give me death” and those Black freedom fighters whose likeness and admonitions are now emblazoned in our Nation’s Capital. For inquiries regarding this letter, please contact @deray .
Posted on: Tue, 25 Nov 2014 23:09:49 +0000
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