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An African-American man named [insert most recently slain Black man's name here] was shot and killed by police in [insert location here] in a tragic though unsurprising display of racial prejudice and police brutality.
This is far from the first time our country has witnessed such an atrocity. While I have seen change for the better in my lifetime, racial violence remains among our nation's defining qualities, and the slaughter of Black lives continues to be an uncomfortable normalcy in America—and normality comes with routine.
Shameful though it may be, at this point we know from experience exactly what will happen next. We can anticipate what roadblocks will be set up along the path towards progress, and it's unfortunately easy to predict the humdrum refrain we'll hear from those who refuse to take a step toward progress.
In an effort to justify a needless act of excessive violence, they will make a parade of [insert most recently slain Black man's name here]'s most negligible sins. They will debase his family, discredit his character, and besmirch his humanity. But we must not think of [insert most recently slain Black man's name here] as the "thug" regressive media outlets will purport him to be. We must remember him as a human being deserving—as are we all—of life, liberty, and justice.
In an attempt to quell our rightful anger, they will misquote the works of Black scholars. They will sit, perched upon a pedestal of privilege, and condescend to our outrage with the misinterpreted words of long-dead Black leaders who were murdered—as [insert most recently slain Black man's name here] was murdered—in cold blood by those who refused to embrace the ideals of unity and racial equality.
But being aware of the cruel measures some will take in order to sustain mass prejudice and preserve racial stereotypes does not make me feel any safer, nor does it remove the burdens of my sadness, anger and fear.
I know that I am entitled to my sorrow and frustration at our society's oppressive nature, and I am confident in expressing such sentiments. I am often reluctant, though, to admit how afraid I truly am. For the sadness and anger that follows Black lives falling prey to police is always accompanied by the wretched realization that what happened to [insert most recently slain Black man's name here] could have happened to me. It could have happened to my father. It could have happened to my brother or my sisters or my nieces or nephew. Any of us could just as easily have been killed for walking home in the rain or forgetting to use a turn signal or reaching for our license and registration or for selling loose cigarettes or CDs because we are Black, and our complexions render us expendable.
Amidst that realization, it's easy to fall into despair. I am comforted, though, by the knowledge that there are liberally-minded allies out there who refuse to stand idly by and allow such injustice to continue without engaging in at least one Facebook argument with an old acquaintance from high school. Because just as we know from experience exactly how the oppressive voices of our society will mewl through this time of woe, we're also aware of the obvious ways in which we will protest this recent tragedy. And thus we shall also help to perpetuate the same old back-and-forth routine which costs so many lives, yet produces too few results.
We will react to the cops' imprudent execution of another Black life by simply going through the motions of carbon copying our responses from the last time this happened. We will demand legal reform, but rely on the same old cops to enforce new laws. We will recite the same worn words of sorrow and camaraderie we've heard before in the hopes that this time—unlike the last time and the several times before that—our words will suddenly make a difference to those who have successfully ignored us for so long.
We will stand tall and proud as we bravely announce to the world that we would prefer for this not to happen again. We will unite as an empowered, progressive community to ensure that at least a little while goes by before another police officer kills another Black person. We will draft scathing tweets, pen critical blog posts, and organize disruptive—though entirely nonviolent—marches as we continue to fight for marginal change by any convenient means necessary.
We will insist that our demands for freedom will never be silenced. But after a few months, the smoke will clear and the candles of our public vigils will have all burned out. We will cling to whatever small victories we can claim as we fall back into the tacit regimen of the oppressed, patiently awaiting whichever murder next serves as a rallying cry for justice. A few mighty folk will continue their work in the shadows, admirably pursuing social reform with no expectations of praise or reverence. The rest of us, though, will lose interest in any topic—however dire—not trending online. We will lower our Black Power fists. We will let our guards down.
And then this will happen again. And again. And again. And eventually, the responses from all sides of the color line will be so rehearsed and procedural that we'll just switch out the names of the deceased and go about our business as usual.
But until then, we will mourn the loss of [insert most recently slain Black man's name here], just as we grieved for [insert most recently slain Black woman's name here] and [insert most recently slain Black child's name here]. They are survived by our arguments, and they shall never be forgotten.
Willamette Week
