I come from a line of revolutionary Black women, both known and unknown to me. This letter and my actions over the past few weeks are dedicated to them. To my mother, Sharene, who taught me to fight tooth and nail for what is right and what is just, I thank you. To my grandmother, Charmayne, who imbued me with a deep faith in God and taught me to always have hope on dark days, I salute you. To my great-grandmother, Gloria, who worked tirelessly in an unemployment office to make sure that Black people were treated fairly and equitably and taught me to be brave and unwavering, I uplift you. Finally, I thank my great-grandmother Grace, who left the Klan-infested South with six small children so that her descendants could possibly be free from the grip of White supremacy. Grace taught me about how revolutionary love and kindness are and I will eternally be grateful. To these women, I thank you for your sacrifices and lessons, for without them I have nothing.
These past few days have felt like an eternity. I feel twenty years older and my heart is twenty pounds heavier. I have grieved for George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Emmett Till, and countless known and unknown Black victims of White supremacist violence who have not seen justice for their murders. It is incredibly difficult to sit back and watch as your brothers and sisters are slaughtered in the streets with no repercussions. It is even more difficult is when your academic institution blatantly sends a message that they value a relationship with the same oppressive forces over the lives of Black students. DePaul University, especially Provost Salma Ghanem, should be deeply ashamed of this defilement of Vincentian values, yet we still retain our relationship with the Fraternal Order of Police and the Chicago Police Department. Something even more shocking was discovering that my workplace — where I often escaped the anti-Blackness of the world — partnered a fellows cohort with the FoP. As an institution, we are providing a discounted education to those who would willingly and eagerly slaughter Black students without batting an eye. This relationship completely violates our Vincentian values and spits in the face of the teachings of St. Vincent DePaul. Do you think “St. Vinny” would stand idly by as millions are oppressed and murdered? Our university administration surely believes so.
Over this past week or so, I have had to confront the sneaking suspicion that in this nation my Black life does not matter. I have had to confront the fact that my womb is a graveyard. I don’t know what I will tell my Black sons twenty years from now when they ask me why the police have killed a man who looks just like them. I do not yet know the pain of bringing a Black boy into this world and losing him because of police violence, but as I get older these fears get realer. I wish I had a long, drawn out explanation of why police brutality and White supremacy are great evils in this world, but what’s the use? They lynch us publicly for existing. No degree will protect us. No job will protect us. They lynched my ancestors in suits and dress shoes. My great-great uncle was killed in a “factory accident” because his White coworkers assumed he was dating a White woman. They lynch my brothers in the streets daily. I am deeply terrified for my father. I am terrified for my uncles and cousins. I am terrified for my future sons. This country is killing us slowly for the world to see. I am tired. I am exhausted. I wish I had words for this dread, but I right now have nothing. Instead, I wait for the day when I send my Black sons outside with an invisible target on their backs, praying they return home safely.