Today I am trying my hardest to find solace in Jesus, another man who cried out to his mother, and to his father, when he was bleeding and suffocating on the lynching tree, being put to death by people who believed they had more power than he.
I felt anger rise in me as I watched “Harriet,” the new film about the famed abolitionist Harriet Tubman. The anger came from an awareness that the distorted use of victimization by the oppressors and the enslavers is still prevalent 100 years after Tubman’s death.
On the night of Ash Wednesday, somebody sitting at the bar yelled out, “Hey! You got something black on your face!” Without thinking, I yelled back, “Hey! It’s my skin!”
People of color did not create racism, yet we are often looked to for the solution to end it. It’s not my responsibility to end the power and privilege of white people. And even if you think it is our responsibility, we cannot end it because more times than not, our voices are muted as soon as people see the color of our skin.