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Buffalo Massacre

I keep hearing gunshots in my dreams.
 
Smelling burning flesh of ancestors tarred and feathered.
 
Seeing black bodies swing from contorted trees that have been nurtured by the blood of strange fruit.
 
Each report of Black lives being savagely murdered by coddled Caucasian males makes me both angry and afraid.
 
I see angry mobs of White faces  justified in beating us with billy clubs.
 
I’m too scared to sleep.
More scared to go outside.
To the grocery store.
 
Leaving my home is a death sentence.
 
I am not safe.
 
Buying oranges gives a white extremist permission to kill me.
 
White friends sympathize.
Feigned helplessness.
 
THEY didn’t have slaves.
THEY didn’t pull the trigger.
Or bomb the church.
Or knell with a knee on his neck.
 
The truth is they didn’t.
But they benefit.
Whiteness protects itself in silence.
 
We had abolitionists before we had allies.
 
Without both, Black America would never have survived.
 
The Civil War was a “white fight.”
State rights versus Governmental authority.
 
Slavery was the bone of contention.
 
Each contingency had very different values and definitions of life, liberty, and justice for all.
 
Each side, willing to go to war for their self-interests.
For what they valued.
For what they believed.
 
Until Black Lives are in the self-interest of a contingency of white people that value life, liberty, and justice, Black lives will continue to be terrorized.

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