A wounded but healing heart

As I sit here looking for the words to begin this letter in an eloquent manner, my eyes are welling up with tears making it difficult to see my computer screen. I think in a moment like this the best thing for me to do is speak from the heart, so please bear with me as I try and find a way to articulate my thoughts. 

At the moment, I feel numb. Over the course of the last 48 hours, I've been hit with waves of emotions minute after minute. I'm hurt. I'm angry. I'm sad. I'm fearful. I'm anxious. I'm proud. The world has witnessed things like what happened to George Floyd countless times in America, and it's not right. Our lives matter. My life matters. That could have just as easily been me under Derek Chauvin's knee. Or it could have been me in the park when Amy Cooper called the police and created a false narrative, threatening my safety. It could have been me running on the street minding my business, hunted down like prey, and murdered like Ahmaud Arbery. For what? Because the color of our skin is viewed as a weapon. 

All lives can't matter until black lives matter. 

I don't know how to grieve at this point. I'm mourning the loss of my black brothers and sisters whose lives have been taken unjustly at the hands of police officers and civilians alike, while simultaneously mourning the loss of my entire neighborhood that was taken by the hands of looters and rioters on Sunday evening. I was in front of the group during the peaceful protest. It was such an empowering feeling to march for something that I believe in, with people from all backgrounds and walks of life surrounding me. That didn't last long, as the anarchy and mayhem were soon to follow. 

People are angry. People are hurt. People want justice.

At 1:34 pm on Sunday, I watched the movement turn from peaceful to violent with a flip of a switch. The looting started right before my eyes at the Vans store on the corner of 4th and Broadway, and it would continue well into the dark hours of the night. People came from far and wide to take advantage of that situation. It was clearly organized well beforehand, and as the days have passed, flyers have been posted showing that plans for the looting were being shared on social media prior to Sunday's events. 

People are opportunists. People have been locked inside their homes for months without pay or work. People are angry. People are hurt. People want justice. It's all so hard to digest because I get it, but I don't agree with it. It all happened right in front of me like a scene out of a movie. My building was the epicenter of it all. I watched the restaurants below me get destroyed in the blink of an eye. My floor shook as pipes were burst and windows shattered. I watched as the bank next to me was robbed, followed by a mob of people attacking a safe for (what felt like) hours. I watched people pull guns on one another and fight in the streets just feet away from me.

When the color of your skin is viewed as a weapon, you will never be seen as unarmed.

All while this was happening the police were too preoccupied with flexing their authority on the peaceful protestors blocks away to step in, allowing this to take place. It felt like they wanted it to happen. People would set fires as decoys, the fire department would come in and put it out, then they would all return back down the street to watch the city burn. 

I am proud of who I am, and I am proud to be a black man. Always have been, and I always will be. But sometimes I don't feel safe in my own skin. If that doesn't speak volumes to you, then maybe you need to clean out your ears. When the color of your skin is viewed as a weapon, you will never be seen as unarmed. As one of the only black people in the company, I feel obligated to spark this conversation. But I shouldn't have to. It's not my responsibility to have to educate or speak on these matters. These conversations need to be had in people's homes, at the dinner table, when topics of race inequality and racial injustice are prevalent in the media and when they are not. 

 We didn't choose the color of our skin, but it is a choice to hate someone for it.  

I am only one person, but I know I can speak for a lot of my black brothers and sisters when I say I'm tired. I'm fucking exhausted. This has been a fight that we've been fighting alone for too long now, and we need you as allies. We need you beside us. This is not Black versus everybody else. This is everybody versus a corrupt and unjust system that was never designed for us. When the US Constitution was written, Black people were viewed as 3/5 of a human. All lives can't matter until black lives matter. 

I don't know what's next. I don't know where we go from here. I just know something has to change. It has to start with all of us on the ground level. I know a lot of you have young children, and although I'm not a parent and never would try and tell someone how to raise their kids, I think it's time to start having those uncomfortable conversations with them. Teach them love and compassion for EVERYONE. Not just people that look like me, but everyone. No matter their race, religion, sexual orientation, or anything in between. We didn't choose the color of our skin, but it is a choice to hate someone for it.  

I hope you all remain safe and healthy during this time as well. There are two pandemics that we are fighting now. We're all in this together. Please be careful. Please be safe. Please do your part in whatever capacity that may be. 

From the bottom of my wounded but healing heart, I love you. 

DeWayne McMurry

A note from the editor: To support the Black community, capital donations will always speak louder than posts of solidarity. Breonna Taylor would have turned 27 today, June 5th, 2020. She was murdered in her home by three Louisville police, who have not been charged. The Louisville Community Bail Fund has been working tirelessly to demand justice for her death.

Join me, and donate here.