It was a warm summer night, the moon was full and I was just about to leave Austin and start my time at the University of North Texas. For years I had been hiding who I was from myself but under the mesquite trees in my friend’s front yard, I looked past the branches and I stared at the moon. Over the sound cicadas hissing, I heard a voice inside say, “Stop hiding”.
I came to my favorite determiner of whether or not I would date someone. The question asks, “Would you strongly prefer to go out with someone of your own skin color/racial background?” I answered no…
The statuses and tweets and blog posts calling for the rejection of Syrian refugees, may seem like simply racism and bigotry – and it is racism and bigotry, xenophobic even, but what gives birth to these reactions is fear.
Marching is sacramental. It is sacred. It is holy. It is a gift from God to minority groups that need to have their voices heard.
First, your suspicions are correct, this image has spelled the name Abel incorrectly, second you must be curious about what the Bible verse Jeremiah 17:9 says. It says, “The heart is devious above all else; it is perverse—who can understand it?”
These aren’t distant families I have no attachment to, when I was marching they became my family, when they came “under the care” of my country, they became my blood. And I will keep raising hell until they are treated with dignity.
It seems like every other day another person of color is mercilessly slaughtered by the people sworn to protect and serve them. I for one intend to be prepared and to make sure my legacy isn’t tarnished like so many of my siblings have been. First things first – the police officer who killed me probably…