"I Can't Breathe": A Tribute

I can’t breathe.

I buried my face into my mother’s shoulder. Her warmth gave me comfort, but the sounds outside the doors of my church chilled my blood. I could hear the chanting of the angry mob. I could smell the gasoline being thrown onto the building. A place of refuge against the horrors of hatred now became the crematory of the innocent.

Smoke blackened the night sky, and the fires devoured all that was holy. My eyes watered. My flesh burned. I watched the figures of white cloaks lurk beyond the window, drinking in the sight of my brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers each succumbing to a death of hungry flames and unbridled hatred.

Is this a dream?

I can’t breathe.

I grasped at the chains digging into my skin. My stomach lurched in rhythm to the mighty waves outside the ship. Death wafted all around me as my brothers lay in their own waste, one upon the other like a heap of rubbage. The strong hands of our captors hauled out the dead at my feet, mumbling under their breath about the loss in profit.

I hadn’t eaten in days. My vision dimmed. I remembered the village I grew up in, praying my sisters had escaped the invasion in time. Their faces flashed across my mind in distorted agony when the cries of women and children above filtered through the beams of the captain’s quarters overhead. Were those the helpless voices of my family?

Is this a dream?

I can’t breathe.

She clutched her purse tighter as I passed by. I walked through the parking lot, listening to the sounds of locking mechanisms whir with each step I took. I entered the mall and listened to the joyful sounds of families shopping for the holiday season.

 I reached into my pocket and wrapped my fingers around the twenty dollar bill I had earned mowing lawns for a week, once I could convince the owners’ I wasn’t trying to case their home for their valuables. 

The ding of the shop entrance echoed through the clothing store. I envisioned the ecstatic face of my mother as she opened the gift of her new church hat. With a smile, I began to peruse the different styles, but that joy faded as the store clerk mirrored each step I took, hawking every movement of my hands to make sure I wasn’t stealing.

I put my hands in my pockets and continued looking.

The man approached, calling for mall security. He demanded I show him what I had just stuffed into my pants, cutting me off from any way of escaping the confrontation. I heard the slur which he thought he had whispered to himself.

Is this a dream?

I can’t breathe.

The gravel dug into my face. I felt the heavy weight of the officer crush my windpipe. I struggled to breathe, begging for my life. I hated the sound of my voice as I uttered a plea for mercy, knowing the people watching my plight relished in my helplessness.

The voice of my grandmother echoed in my mind, warning me of the life we were forced to endure. She cautioned me never to resist, never to instigate, never to give them a reason to resort to brute force. Growing up, I thought she was overprotective, until I didn’t. I thought she spoke of a rare group of violent haters, until they weren’t rare. 

I knew, after several years of sleepless nights and unrelenting oppression, that my silence in confrontation would mean my survival, but here I was, eating the petrol-soaked dirt with my neck crushed beneath the kneecap of a man who saw me as less than human. I tried to speak again, but darkness overcame me.

Is this a dream?

I can’t breathe.

I sat in front of the television. Breaking news scrolled across the screen. B-roll of celebration rippling across the nation. The news reporter spoke in a solemn, passionate tone with each mention of the names of my brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers--those who were murdered, raped, attacked, racialized, or victimized by the hand of systemic racism.

 I watched the illustrative drawing of judges passing guilty verdicts against every single murderer, rapist, arsonist, and other criminal with heinous hate crimes against humanity. Not only them, but an array of lawyers, chiefs, captains, politicians, and all those who played a hand in continuing and encouraging racism. 

I consumed the footage of arrests being made of everyone who had once been able to get away free for their criminal activities. I rejoiced for my innocent incarcerated brothers and sisters who became exonerated of the fallacious charges of crimes for being black.

They were free.

Justice was served.

If only it weren’t a dream.

I can’t breathe.