We Are Not Okay

Every single day, certain events seem to repeat themselves. We are not okay.

It happens. Almost every single day. It is reported, debated, defended, regurgitated, and we are not okay. Perhaps some think that if it keeps happening, it will become an expected occurrence. Forgive me if my eyes glisten with grief I cannot comfortably, outwardly share. It is a repeat occurrence. Expected to be defended, always debated. Over and over like a slow beat on a drum. The drum beats for a community in mourning.

In the morning, I awaken. Opening my eyes, I wonder what the headline will be. I pray that as I slept, the world was okay. The desire to know what the weather forecast is and catch up on good news in my community. I begrudgingly check, listening to make sure that the drum did not mourn for anyone I knew. We…I am not okay. Instead, I hear about another African American whose existence has ceased to exist at an unexpected moment. I hear about another minority person who was mistreated, physically hurt, or their family is hearing the drum. It seems the drum beats on and we are not okay.

Just once, I would love to not regret turning on the news. I want to hear stories of progress in society, forward momentum, and equality. The desire to see opportunities present themselves to those who put forth the effort. I want to hear success stories and not have them defined by “First African American”, “First Woman”, or “First Minority”. This should not be okay. This is not okay.

The discussion about how this can be fixed and right the wrong is long overdue. The discussion should be why certain actions keep happening, as well as what we can collectively do to preserve life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for ALL.

Life.

We knew it was fragile and much shorter than we could ever expect. Nowadays, just turn on the news. Life is shorter for some than others. We are not okay. None of us should be okay with this new reality. How do we look at our children and explain that it happened again? What do we say when the wordless expression shows on their face? Will I be next? You can see it in their eyes. One cannot help but ask, Will my family be next?

The face of fear. A look that parents with a child of color, particularly male, undoubtedly see each day. It is a face no one knew would become so familiar.

Will a simple move be perceived wrong? Could a simple arm stretch or reach equate to their last breath? If it is just a bad day for someone else, will it negatively end the life of another? Who knew that protecting yourself from bullying could become an act of sudden death?

In some African American communities, if a daughter or son is home at the end of the day and breathing — then it was a terrific day. This is not okay. It never has been okay. Trust me, it will never be okay.

We have asked as tears streamed down our faces. We have marched, we have tried to wait and see if things will calm down. We have waited for the drum to stop, yet it continues, day after day, after day. It is not okay.

It is not okay for anyone to constantly live in fear simply because they are considered imperfect or less than. Who among us is perfect? By whose standards is it fair to consider anyone less than?

It is not okay to be scared to ask or answer a question. It is not okay to second guess your chosen peer group. It is not okay to assume that you are imperfect, merely because of misconceptions. It is not okay. We are not okay.

Even on the day when Justice found her way, the drum, in the distance, beat on the same day. The drum is still beating. We mourn as the drum continues to beat. What have we done to have a bounty on our heads? Why does society fear us? Will we ever be, okay?

I want to be okay; I really do.

No matter how hard I try to compartmentalize the beating of the drum, I mourn. Each time the deafening drumbeats, it is another life, gone too soon. Can you understand how this can hurt? A community can only hold back the agony of loss and the pain of exclusion. We have been holding back and holding on for things to change — yet…the drum beats and beats and beats.

We are not okay. I can honestly say, I am not okay — this hurts.