Keep On Keeping On

In an America defined by and founded in racial violence, it is sadly fitting that progress is measured in punishment. Tears from coast to coast, the collective sigh of momentary relief, the glimmer of hope that justice is not fantasy, the recognition that the country would have been ablaze tonight, the sense of history, all hinged on a White man finally found guilty, finally punished.

It is the symbol that matters so much – White man. Guilty.

A White police officer being handcuffed and transformed into a lifelong felon for killing a Black man is a needle in the haystack of American justice. We don’t see that in America. We don’t experience that in America. We hardly have an emotional map or words to help guide us through the maze of feelings it conjures up. We’re accustomed to rage and fury and helplessness and humiliation and determination and protest. Those feelings are part of how so many Black people know they are Americans.  

Even if just for a moment, however, this sense of the system working, this sense of at last, this sense of finally, this sense of relief, this sense of it took long enough, this sense of justice, feels restorative. It feels as if some small dose of dignity has been returned. That matters. It signals the life of hope. It means something to so many people. It means something to me.

My spirit is buckling under the weight of despair. In the last few days we’ve watched another 20 year old Black boy shot and killed by a White police officer in Brooklyn Center, a 13 year old Black boy shot and killed by a White police officer in Chicago, and even today, a 15 year old Black girl shot and killed by a White police officer in Columbus, Ohio. The strain is incalculable. In the last two weeks two young Black college students I am connected to committed suicide.

In 1962, in The Fire Next Time James Baldwin offered us a historical guidepost to mark this moment (p. 99):

…At this level of experience one’s bitterness begins to be palatable, and hatred becomes too heavy a sack to carry. The apprehension of life here so briefly and inadequately sketched has been the experience of generations of Negroes, and it helps to explain how they have endured and how they have been able to produce children of kindergarten age who can walk through mobs to get to school. It demands great force and great cunning continually to assault the mighty and indifferent fortress of white supremacy, as Negroes in this country have done for so long.

The amount of suffering we will have to endure to emerge from this American darkness and despair is unclear. It is certain, however, that emerging will require organizing, relentless fighting and praying and courageous defense of right. I don’t see any other way. But today, I join so many people in holding onto and marveling in the momentary experience of American justice.

George Floyd, Good Brother may you rest in peace. Thank you at least, for catalyzing the world and allowing us to see justice, even if just for a moment. We can feel you urging us to keep on keeping on.

kamau (@kamaubobb)