Crying

Guest Author, Sandra Miller

I cried on November 10, 2016, the day after #45 was elected president.  I cried last week on Thursday after seeing the video of the brutal murder of yet another black man.  I cried on Friday.  Today is Tuesday, June 2, 2020 and I’m still crying.

Why did I cry on November 10, 2016?  I cried for my son, for all the black children, especially the black boys who would have to gird themselves even tighter to survive the subsequent years of #45’s presidency.  When asked by my supervisor, who is Caucasian, why I was so upset, I expressed my concern for my son’s future, for his well-being, with the increased racial animosity being openly displayed in the wake of #45’s election. She was taken aback.  After all, we live in Westchester County, New York, not the ‘deep south’.  I told her that each day my son steps through our door my last words to him is ‘be safe’, a reminder of the conversation had with him at an early age about how not to get in the crosshairs of the cops.  In fact, that conversation was had in conjunction with a former police officer on how black boys could help keep themselves safe.  I asked her if she had ever had to have this conversation with her children when they were younger, if she had worried each day when they left home.  Her answer was a quiet ‘no’.  In that moment she understood the pain and fear I was feeling.

Today I am crying, not only for the cruelty shown to another black man, the abject disdain for a black life, another human being, but for all our black men and children who, after all these years, still have to gird themselves to survive in this country.  I am crying for the hypocrisy and cowardice being shown by elected leaders, many of whom have chosen to hide behind a wall of silence while others, like #45, break down the foundations of what should make us human.

People are angry.  I am angry. The depth of my anger is burning a deep hole in my soul.  My tears are failing to quench the anguish.