Black man, I prayed for you last night… except there weren’t many words. You see, like you I have found myself heavy and burdened with emotions due to the events of the past week… month… years… I know you’re laughing because, “Since when is a black woman at a loss for words?” We can chuckle about that together, but this time I think we both understand why. Really, I prayed because I grew weary of screaming and cussing in frustration about the loss of another brother or sister.
George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, and almost Chris Cooper in Central Park have caused everyone in the world to pause and re-examine his/her own relationship with black skin, and it’s relative treatment in America in 2020. Add to that a layers of pure racism and cowardice that can no longer be masked by a liberal white woman with a dog, racist white men in your friendly Georgia neighborhood, or an enduring system of police brutality that this time chose a knee over a gun. Well, not just any knee, but the patellofemoral joint of an adult white male supporting the full weight of his torso and body transferred through his pelvis down the length of his femur to the approximately 5.5 mm carotid artery of Mr. Floyd. For almost 9 minutes a murderer slowly stole the life of another Black man, depriving him of vital oxygen and nutrients desperately needed by his brain for survival, reportedly because he was resisting arrest even though former Ofc. Chauvin’s hands stayed in his pockets the entire time, devoid of struggle to contain Mr. Floyd.
So, yes, I prayed for you in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep, because enough is enough and- in the words of Fannie Lou Hamer – “I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.” In the moans and groans of a grandmother on her knees in the middle of the night waiting for her prodigal grandson to return home. I whispered the words and melodies of songs lined out in a hymn by the mothers of the church who maybe couldn’t read or write intelligibly, but knew how to place that note so perfectly deep in your soul that every time you heard it, you got chills. I lifted up a prayer filled with the tears of a single mother who is utterly exhausted and whose true desire is for her and her children to be safe. That “arms wrapped around me” kind of protection that any man wants to give his family as a father, husband, brother, son, and provider, and that every woman wants to receive. Yet I understand that many times, Black man, you can’t because throughout countless generations you’ve been trying to survive, prevent and even run from a system that was designed to lynch or disable you by any means necessary. And while many may disagree, I suggest that safety and security are 2 of the most vital needs for a woman from a man. At home, in our communities, and even on our jobs and in places of worship. Although, Breona Taylor had just that with her boyfriend asleep beside her in their Louisville, KY apartment when the police stormed in unannounced and unloaded a hail of bullets into her body in the middle of the night, not realizing until they killed her that they were in the wrong apartment.
Whether you wanted me to or not, I prayed for you this morning to receive the strength to rise up with God’s help, wisdom and guidance to defeat this enemy of police brutality and systemic racism in America and all over the world. For you to have the courage stand upright as a Black man in your God-given power that the world is so afraid for you to possess, because they know that you would rule if only you realized it was yours. I asked God to hear my heart because no words would suffice to adequately describe the despair, rage, and gut-wrenching pain that it sometimes takes to be an African-American woman who loves and cherishes African-American men. I, hell WE, are praying for you, standing beside you and fighting with you because the security of our children, families and communities depend on it.
Love,
Your Black Woman
Similar Read: Dear Black Man