Random notes on what being Black in America really entails
By Ezinne Ukoha
There is an epidemic. The status has been escalated mainly due to the uproar on social media. Let’s face it—if we were still partying it up in 1999—there would be no need to address the fact that 14 Black girls vanished within a 24-hour period.
Sounds crazy, right?
I mean just imagine how f*#&!d up we would be if 14 White girls were declared missing without a trace.
The entire country would be in lock down mode, as the search for answers devours our timelines with the urgency that should be assigned when a crisis rears its ugly head with no warning.
It’s imaginable that girls of color will wander off into oblivion without much fanfare because that’s how we roll in the US of A. The value system warrants that only a percentage of us get the privilege of being mourned when we tragically exit against our will.
Yes, there is the thing about how some of us purposely leave without notice, as this is part of our DNA. We break the rules, we are scummy, and we don’t respect the law like our White counterparts who unfairly succumb to circumstances beyond their control.
The headlines are glaring, and the images jarring, and we are all doing what we can to prove why the lives of Black girls in limbo demand a certain level of attention from those who swore to protect and serve citizens of America.
Making America Great Again is interfering with being Black in America in ways that are threateningly vile. We were recently told that the All-American aesthetic can’t be f*&^%d with—and those of us who don’t replicate the look are a**ed out. We simply have to find other ways to identify ourselves.
The president you elected has bills!
He’s in major debt and until he pays it all off—people of color will continuously have to con-tend with the idea of being knifed to death in the streets of Manhattan, and all the other goodies that come with walking a tightrope and hoping that you fall away from the b*&^%$@!t.
The Women’s March on Washington was spectacular. You all couldn’t wait to position yourselves in the lane of awareness. Each step symbolized the mightiness of carrying your right to be heard above the static you disowned.
Hollywood lighted up with names of celebs like Madonna and Charlize Theron who snapped their dispositions and spoke through the bullhorn of righteous endearment.
Yeah! Hanging with my peeps!
Yet, both these women ad-opted Black daughters and sons with the casualness of duty and the reassurance of knowing how the gates of their mental palace will protect their decision.
When the community they poached from cries out from the debris of consciousness—these bedazzled mothers of Black children remain loudly silent as if the siren ringing in their ears can be remedied with the millions they store with surprising recklessness.
Yes, there is a difference in the way White women approach their own s*#t and the other s*#t that sticks to the women that they pretend don’t exist. This is real. It’s not fiction. It’s not a Black woman curating a piece to unfairly blame others who are innocent and want to be better, but resent how they are being depicted.
This isn’t another condemnation of lawmakers or the FBI who have to be publicly ran-sacked into finally admitting that there are strange things happening that can’t be explained and maybe, just maybe, after all this time, perhaps, something needs to be done about it.
You can guiltlessly wonder how the cries for missing Black girls ended up in your feed and politely dismiss it the way you would anything that doesn’t match your selected preferences.
Okay, I’m going on and on and I could honestly go on for-ever.
I’m so sick of being me sometimes. I’m tried of talking, writing, reading, listening, staring, pointing, clicking, tweeting, highlighting, hovering, tapping, responding, trolling, swiping, momenting, unliking, and sharing the brutalization of my people.
I’m also not psyched that Black people get the same kind of treatment that third world countries bequeath their own as they hoard the money to advance the care of politicians at the expense of the masses under pressure.
This is kinda f*&#ed up, but at least I get that logic. Money is power and greed is a disease that doesn’t discriminate.
What is really disgusting is how a country with resources beyond compare—can purposely deal the evil card by neglecting to care for those who are in need—just because it feels so good to watch a pen filled with Black people clawing for freedom.
Just like the good ole days.
As of late, we are being made to believe that the #MissingDCGirls isn’t necessarily an alarming phenomenon because according to the Metropolitan Police Department—the decision to increase the usage of Twitter to help publicize these cases—inadvertently set off a false alarm.
Black girls go missing all the time! Like, it’s really no big deal folks. Calm down. There is no need to be bewildered and dismayed at the realization that “over the past five years 200 people have been reported missing each month.”
You also don’t have to be shaken up by the statistics that prove that “36.8% of missing children are Black.”
This is what being Black in America entails.
No Amber Alerts or clickbaiting fodder from media outlets that are desperate to capitalize on how or why young girls are disappearing at a rate that could ruin the plan to Make America White Again.
Oops! Sorry! Those aren’t the girls I mean.
Ezinne Ukoha Juggling Wordsmith and delightfully mumbling poet.