Another Everyday Occurrence
She wasn’t shot by cops, so you probably didn’t hear about this story. They won’t protest, won’t burn down the city, won’t be upset when the shooter gets released after a minimal amount of time. This is just another everyday occurrence.
There won’t be any video showing the shooting because this is not a story of a racist cop shooting an innocent woman in the back while she was trying to strap her child in the car. This ain’t a story of a cop slamming a black boy’s head into the trunk of a vehicle followed by a vicious uppercut to the jaw of his mother for trying to protect her baby. This is not the story of a man being beat senselessly with billy clubs, a murder of an innocent immigrant reaching for his wallet, a gas station epileptic attack leading to a barrage of bullets, or a young brother being tased, err, shot in the back while handcuffed. This is just another everyday occurrence.
The city won’t erupt with violence, the evidence will arrive slowly while we honor the code of no snitching, the apprehension will barely register a blip on the radar, the sentencing will be conducted only in front of the families of the perpetrators and the victims. Justice? Back page of the news; this is just another everyday occurrence.
There will be more people at the funeral for the “N” word than in the church for her going home. The community won’t cry, fight, nor go to jail protesting the senseless violence. There won’t be a nationwide call to raise money or awareness black on black crime; because let’s face it, there were no earthquakes or tsunamis here, there was no shooting of an unarmed man at the hands of the police, there were no innocent men with mistresses falling at the hands of Osama. No, there is nothing sensational about a mother being shot in the back by “one of her own” while trying to shield her baby from the horrors of our world. It will be chalked up to the hood, to pride, to boys being boys, to Niggers being Niggers, to keeping it real. This is just another everyday occurrence of inner city terrorism.
Beyond the initial shock, you won’t see much on the story, you won’t hear or remember her name, and you won’t be able to find her on Wikipedia. No one will care beyond a candlelight vigil and a $5 donation at a car wash to raise funds because this ain’t Amadou Diallo, this ain’t James Byrd Jr., this ain’t Tyisha Miller, this ain’t Oscar Grant, and this ain’t the racism of a boy getting arrested for sagging pants. This is just another everyday occurrence.
Even though we are a bigger threat to ourselves than the KKK, or the racist police, or the crooked judges and their crooked system led by their blind ho;
Jessie ain’t coming
Cornel ain’t coming
Obama ain’t coming
The Republicans and their system of traditional values ain’t coming
The Democrats and their array of social programs ain’t coming
The NAACP and their programs geared towards advancing Colored People is not coming
and Osama’s dead, so we can’t hire and train him to fight our black Russian demons
This story does not have a happy ending. There are no Hollywood “saviors” coming to rescue the little “Wildcats”, or to teach the children to become “Freedom Writers”, or to stop the little ghetto kids from being “Blindsided”. Madonna and Angelina aren’t coming to rescue of the third world American children from poverty. There are no more abolitionists or Underground railroads to save us from the vices of our horrors. For these problems, we’re all alone on the rooftop of hopelessness; think Bush – flying his whip overhead during Katrina, because this is just another everyday occurrence.
We are running out of veils to cover the ugliness. Running out of sagging pants stories to distract us from our troubles. Running out of shadows to blame for our worries. There are no more bogey-Bushes and Cheyneys, Sarah went from a presidential hopeful to a Saturday Night live skit, and the New World Order is bordering on becoming Paul Bunyan folklore. With each self inflicted act of self hatred, each unsolicited stroke of a Pastors hand up a skirt or on a boy’s privates, each innocent life that’s lost at our hands that we cover up, it becomes more apparent the racists aren’t the one’s pulling Pinocchio’s strings and our noses are growing from trying to cover up our imperfections. There are no more excuses for the kind of senseless acts that left Monique Nelson lying breathless in the door of her SUV, and her son motherless.
We are the only one’s left who can fix it; the only question that remains is where can we start to prevent these “Everyday Occurrences” from happening again and again?