Something That I'm Used To

Yesterday a 20 year old man was shot repeatedly, basically outside my door. Unfortunately this is something that I'm used to. As rough as my neighborhood can be, we have a lot of people here that care and quite a few organizations within a few blocks that have worked for the last two decades (with MUCH success) to turn things around here. As a result of yesterday's day time shooting, an emergency community meeting was called. I couldn't wait for noon today to come. Nothing gets me excited like everyday people working together to create change instead of leaving it all in the hands of people that barely acknowledge our existence. It is what I've dedicated my life to after all. I walked in to the meeting pleasantly surprised to see our police sergeant addressing my neighbors. I sat down to listen and quickly became restless as he spoke about the "good people that live here, too". I laughed inside. He let us know repeatedly that he had multiple other meetings to attend before writing a number on the white board. It was his cell phone number. I sent him a text as he walked out the door and he responded immediately and told me to call him. I let him know that I will. Let's get right into it. I'm done blaming black boys for their issues. Actually, I'm not sure I ever did. Of course, people need to take responsibility for their actions, but let me explain. I am learning to become solution oriented and not problem oriented. Trust me, I know that I am a complainer. I know all of the things that are wrong, but I don't necessarily know how to fix them. This is what I'm working on. What grinds my gears more than anything is the fact that we all too often blame people for things when they themselves are victims. Victims of a mental issue. Victims of a system. I am in no way condoning what happened yesterday. It was a tragedy. But let's talk about the reasons behind these things. On June 12th, 2007 my god brother was killed on the streets of Boston. Stabbed in the chest in Codman Square and left to die. The following day I was set to speak at the State House. I was part of a program helping underprivileged youth with the college process. I was a success story for the organization and when they found out they were going to be a part of this event, they asked me if I'd like to speak. I had no idea that tragedy would strike my family the night before. The morning I was set to go to the State House, my mom told me that I didn't have to go. I told her that I did have to go even though I'd quietly disposed of the speech I'd prepared. I had no clue what I was about to say instead, but I knew that the words I'd prepared wouldn't work anymore. When it came time for me to speak I just did it from the heart and as a result I've never written down a speech since. I didn't talk about my college experience, the struggles I went through in life before graduating high school or the people that helped me get there. I saw politicians and CEO's in the crowd, news cameras on my face and I knew it was time to take folks out of their comfort zone. I spoke about the plight of the black man. I talked about the prejudices they face more so than even I as a gay black woman (tsk tsk and tsk) and the systems that have kept them behind everyone else in this country for over 400 years. I spoke about the lack of resources for them that become even more scarce the second they get into any trouble (the trouble that a lot of them got into in the first place because of a lack of resources). I spoke about how the lack of a proper education which, correct me if I'm wrong, generally equates to "NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOU" when you come from a place that has more means than almost any other place in the world to educate its citizens (speaking both on the USA and MA, home to some of the greatest schools in the world). I just said everything that was on my mind. I received a standing ovation and met a few people that would change my life forever. They clapped, they whistled, they disappeared. The program that was being introduced that day, with this grand celebration at the State House, a program intended to help students like me, that come from where I'm from... still isn't doing too much of shit. Unfortunately, this is something that I'm used to. Half assed government funded bullshit just like most of the rest of it. Shall the soul of my brother and the young man that was killed yesterday forever rest in peace. May the men that killed get their lives together and use their pent up energy to do something good in the light of the terrible misdeed they committed and all of the pain that they caused. If we're going to talk good and bad, let's also speak on right and wrong and the source of what happened in both of these instances and how we need to talk about those things first. Tomorrow I'm not going to talk to Sergeant Silta about fearing for my safety, because I don't. I won't speak on needing more cameras in my neighborhood because cameras don't stop crime, they're only any good after a crime is already committed. Sergeant Silta and I are going to have a cute conversation about the plight of the black man and how we can help him. Here's to me hoping that he's open to bring solution oriented, too.