By: Nia Thompson
Updated: Feb. 24, 2021
Originally Published: Feb. 24, 2021
I have never seen the footage that circulated in May depicting the murder of George Floyd. The accounts from those who did watch it were too distressing for me: his desperate calls for his mother and the pain in his final moments were unbearable. During the Black Lives Matter Movement, I was glued to the screen, witnessing history unfold once again in 2020. The tear gas, the police shields, and the collective cries for justice from people of all backgrounds—Black, brown, and white—made me reevaluate everything I thought I understood about my country.
I believed that things had improved, that the scars my grandparents bore from drinking from “colored only” water fountains or sitting in segregated classrooms during the 1940s had somewhat healed. But recent events—the Capitol Riots, the tragic death of Breonna Taylor, and the ongoing grief for Black individuals I’ve never met, like Ahmaud Arbery and Botham Jean—have shown me otherwise. This Black History Month feels different; life feels more precarious than ever.
This month has been one of deep contemplation for me. Every time I look at my teenage son, I worry if I’ve equipped him with enough wisdom to keep him safe. When I see a police car pass my house, I mentally review my day’s travels, double-check that my family is home, and keep a watchful eye out the window, ready to seek cover if necessary. These fears have become familiar to me, akin to the wounds my grandparents carried. I hope the scars will eventually heal, but they are still very raw. I have three children to guide through a world that feels different now, as biracial kids living in a pandemic, needing to protect themselves from unseen threats. Thankfully, my younger two remain blissfully unaware. However, my son is painfully conscious of the reality that his life is valued less than that of his white neighbor.
Over the past month, I’ve had to remind myself that moving forward requires unity. Witnessing Confederate flags being waved in the Capitol on January 6th underscored the heartbreaking truth of our national struggle. There is still so much work to be done, books to read, and Black families mourning the loss of loved ones. Families like mine are still trying to understand the times we live in.
For us, being Black is not confined to a month; it is our daily existence. For my entire life, there will be work to do, minds to enlighten, and hearts to soften to embrace that this is our America. We cannot claim ownership of a land if we are unwilling to care for it and everyone who resides here. Let’s commit to moving forward—not just amplifying Black voices, causes, or memories for one month, but every single day.
This article was originally published on Feb. 24, 2021.
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Summary: This reflection highlights the enduring struggles faced by Black individuals beyond just Black History Month. The author shares personal experiences and fears about raising biracial children in today’s society, emphasizing the importance of unity and continuous work towards justice and understanding.