We've Had Enough.

These last few days have been even more challenging than "usual" for every black person in America.

By now, we all know what happened to George Floyd. By now, we all know about Amy Cooper exercising her "white privilege" in Central Park.

But, what we don't know is when this will stop happening in America.

I've had ranging emotions. I find myself intermittently crying. I find myself in fear of the unknown. I'm scared that I'll have to bury my black child one day.

I'm angry- like hands shaking anger.

When something like this happens to our black community, we begin to reflect on our many experiences with racism, re-living our trauma. For many of us, these experiences start at a very young age.

I think back to the first time, my Mom ever straightened my hair for me. I was 8 years old and had convinced my Mom to do it after months of begging. I remember feeling so excited to show off my hair that day- it was down my back.

As I waited in line for lunch that day, a white boy pulled on my hair and yelled, "are you wearing a wig?". I replied, "no," very confused. "My mom straightened it for me today." I didn't understand why he would ask me that. He responds, "yeah, right, black people's hair is never that long."

Looking back on that moment, I realize that stereotype didn't just come from the 8-year-old boy. This seed had been planted by someone else- probably his parents. I don't remember the boy's name or what he looked like, but to this day, I remember his words decades later.

NEGATIVE RACIAL STEREOTYPES AND PREJUDICES ARE "CASUAL" RACISM!

Example not racist enough for you? I'll keep going.

A few holidays ago, my Mom and I left The Woodlands mall after finishing some holiday shopping. We were still parked in our parking spot while my Mom was pulling up directions to get home on her phone. I notice a large truck waiting for our parking spot. After about 15 seconds or so, they begin to honk at us- their way of telling us to hurry up. My Mom decides to ignore them. 10 seconds later, the woman gets out of her car and bangs on our car window rudely, asking us what we are doing and if we're ever going to move. Again, my Mom decides to ignore her.

I do not because 1) Ain't nobody going to talk to my momma like that when I'm around. 2) I couldn't believe the audacity of her (but then, again, white privilege explains her thought process perfectly).

I tell her to get back in her car and mind her own business. She storms off, hops back in her car, and yells “Niggers” outside her window in unison with her daughter, who looks about 17 or 18 years old.

Now, this is just the tip of the iceberg for many black people in America. Between the countless daily experiences like the ones described above in conjunction with seeing our black brothers and sisters murdered, we have had enough. We are tired.

For me, my cries have stemmed from not understanding why, after all these years, we're still not seen as equal. After everything, white people put our ancestors through. After everything white people have put us through, why do they still do this to us?

Are the billboard hits we've provided you with not enough? Are the professional sports championships we've won for you not enough? Are black men and women who choose to fight for our country, not enough? Are the historical inventions you use in your daily life, not enough? Are our countless contributions not enough?

(Black people were the first to invent items such as home security systems, three-light traffic lights, microphones, etc.)

For those of us who work in corporate America like myself, I realize that I'm passive-aggressively upset with my co-workers. Upset that I had to figure out a way to suppress my emotions to do my job. Upset that no one had said anything to me at work or brought up what was going on without me bringing it up. While bringing up topics as such may make white people feel uncomfortable, black people are uncomfortable, not knowing if their colleagues are anti-racists or take the road of silence.

I wonder if my white neighbors who love to pet my dog will demand change. I wonder if the non-POC men I've dated in the past support #Blacklivesmatter. I wonder if my non-POC followers on Instagram, who love to ask me where I bought an item of clothing, cared about what was happening to black people.

To think people who love to break bread with me could be so silent during a time when we needed them the most- a time when I needed them the most. It is the ultimate betrayal.

After 400+ years of oppression, exploitation, and degradation enough is enough.

-B

P.S. For my non- POC friends and acquaintances who have spoken up demanded justice and change and supported the black lives matter movement, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.