Yesterday, September 21, was World Peace Day.
Yesterday, in Charlotte, North Carolina, a man was shot during a protest as the result of a “civilian on civilian” confrontation.
The day before that, on September 20, Keith L. Scott was shot and killed by policemen in Charlotte.
Many black protesters have been wounded, many police officers have been wounded. Too many brothers and sisters are wounded. The city of Charlotte, my home, is wounded. The Queen City’s citizens are hurting, I am hurting, we are hurting.
When we first heard the tragic news in Ferguson, we banded together. We saw images of the streets flooded with protestors and policemen armed with tear gas and shields, and the people banded together as we shook our heads and cried and swore that would never be us.
Our policemen sheltered us from the tragedies that occurred states away and sought the support of their citizens, which we willingly gave because we were promised protection and care.
Whites and blacks came together across college campuses and schools, as we became a shoulder for each other to cry on. As we reassured each other that we would stand together and keep one another safe.
I now hear the stories from my friends back home, the stories of those who are stuck right in the middle of the chaos, the bloodshed.
A friend was stopped by police while walking to his car one day, they told him he looked suspicious, asked him about a recent string of car break-ins, assuming he’d been one of the thieves. They assumed a boy I played music with, a boy who’s constantly smiling, a successful college student with a passion for acting was the man who’d been breaking into cars in uptown Charlotte. My friend is black, but he is no criminal.
My friend is black, but he should not have to fear for his life when he’s out late at night. My friend is black, but his family shouldn’t have to be nervous when hearing that story. My friend is black, but surviving that night should not make him “lucky.” He was not lucky to survive, he was lucky he did not get robbed on a street that night, he was lucky he didn’t get in a wreck that night, he was lucky he didn’t get attacked by a flock of geese that night.
It is lawful and humane that he survived that police encounter that night, not luck.
I am so tired of the pain, of the fear, of the uncertainty. I am tired of spending the day praying for the safety and wellbeing of all the beautiful people I grew up with. I am tired of the hatred I see all over the internet and the ugliness that people spew at each other as they wait for a reply to their Facebook comment thread. I am tired of going through the day, knowing that something terrible awaits my city when the sun goes down.
My brothers and sisters, your lives matter. You matter so much, and your safety is so important. Our city matters, and though it is chaotic and dangerous and unsure of itself right now, it is still our home. My heart hurts for the ones we’ve already lost, and for the ones that we are sure to lose if we do not get back to loving one another.
