Taelyr C. Roberts

A few months ago, a friend and I were discussing how people from some of the most screwed up places (in terms of states) have the most pride in their home. We went on to discuss the cognitive dissonance in loving a place so much that you could feel in your very essence didn’t love you back and maybe never could love you; simply because you were not only Black, but Black and female birthed into a system that was built to break you. Being a Texas native, I could contribute to this conversation all too well. It is in a lot of ways all too similar to Stockholm syndrome where White supremacy and patriarchy are the oppressor and you (the citizen)- the oppressed. It is not a positive metaphor with which to identify, but one I understand nonetheless. When I first heard of the cop in Mckinney putting his knee in the back of a bikini clad teenager I was of course appalled, but even in discourse with friends said “yep. That was in McKinney. That honestly doesn’t surprise me at all, but that isn’t all of Texas”. Then a few lists such as this one made it around the internet and I conceded that at least Texas was not declared the MOST RACIST state. Shortly after, the news broke regarding Sandra Bland’s death. Black, female, 28, she wrote about police brutality and the Black Lives Matter Movement via social media, she was simply driving to Texas for a job interview, she was stopped (and arrested) for not signaling adequately while driving. It felt too real. It felt too close. I identified with it far too much to even make an attempt to say well that’s just (insert part of Texas here).

With the cases of Black male deaths getting lots of light in the media, Black trans* deaths still on the rise, and Black women’s deaths continuously being swept under the rug, it all just felt too close. Too much. Too overwhelming. I needed it all to stop, so I took a social media hiatus, but it still didn’t block out the texts, conversations, and endless emotions that infiltrated every waking moment. I’ve gotten to a point where I’m tired of shouting #BlackLivesMatter from the rooftops, I’ve grown weary of the erasure and biased judgement of Black Women, I’ve become incredibly beleaguered with explaining to people why any of this is relevant, and I am thoroughly sick of chronicling why saying that “All Lives Matter” is a derailment from the issues at hand. In a lot of ways I have gone through the seven stages of grief and I’m at acceptance. I have accepted that people who look like me are going to continue to be hunted like wild animals and I have accepted that it is going to require serious, strategic, systemic changes for this to end. Will I see it in my lifetime? Probably not. Will it EVER come to fruition? I certainly hope so, but I know that I am simply attempting to find the strength to even read all of the details regarding Sandra Bland and now there is India Clarke, Rexdale Henry, and Sam Dubose (trigger warning for the attached link: graphic content) to add to the list of names of people of color who have been murdered this year.

The short answer to the title of this post is that I can’t. For my own mental health, well-being, and stability I CAN NOT read or watch the details of how another person of color was killed because they frankly just weren’t White enough. Maybe someday I will read all of the op eds about Sandra Bland and finally be able to stomach the bodycam video of Sam Dubose being murdered, but I doubt it will be before there is another hashtag with another person of color’s name attached.