I realized after days of being taunted by a blank screen, that I can’t. I cannot explain to a non-Black person what it means to wear this skin each day, this skin that—despite who wears it—will always be marked and measured by the scars placed upon it by American hands, scars that I inherited from a past I did not know.
I am tired of having to explain to people what it feels like to be Black in America and why they should care. Silence speaks louder than words, and the silence from people who claim to be allies in the struggle against racism is deafening.
I just got back from the Martin Luther King Jr. celebration in Graham Chapel and was deeply moved by professor Bob Hansman’s remarks about the true meaning of King’s life. For those who missed it, Professor Hansman reminded us that King was not a mere dreamer and proponent of conciliation, but a fierce and often critical advocate of true justice.
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