Notes from a bitch…untitled…

I heard about the Mehserle verdict in the Oscar Grant case through Twitter.
I wasn’t surprised by the verdict or the coverage…and since others have done a fantabulous job breaking all of this down, I don’t feel the need to.
Not just yet…no, not quite yet.
I do feel the need to explore my feelings.
When I first heard about Oscar Grant’s murder…and then watched the video…my heart ached. I felt for his family and friends…for his community and all the folks left behind to mourn.
And then I though about my own.
It’s natural, I suppose, even though it feels selfish as hell.
I thought about my brother…a 40 year old black man who often rides the Metro train here in St. Louis Missouri. My brother is autistic and aphasic…he likes to make noises when he’s excited…and he’s often excited on about the Metro…and he sometimes doesn’t respond to questions or requests.
I try not to worry about my brother interacting with police officers.
So far he hasn’t had any problems, but I still worry about it…because.
What if he’d been there on that platform…my brother where Oscar Grant was…on his knees, vulnerable and unarmed, confused and frightened and at risk because.
I thought of my cousins…of young men who often go out and about on public transit.
I thought about how I’ve often heard my aunts caution them about interacting with the police…about how they should move slowly and not talk back and, if they feel they are being harassed, wait and address the incident later rather than in the moment because.
And my heart aches…it just fucking aches.
For the world we live in…for this anxiety so common that when it eases for a spell I miss it like a pain…for my cousins, who are taught the lessons of the white man’s justice when they are too damned young because they may face that shit while still so damn young…
…and for my aunts, who fret and worry and will fret and worry because.

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