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Mama is Mad

Posted by on June 4, 2020

I read a social media post today that said something very similar to how I feel about the current protests and activism against racism. I didn’t screen capture it, and it was not available to share, so I decided to write my own post.

I am angry and not just ready for change, I’m ready to facilitate change. I’m ready to help move America away from racism. I’m ready to do my part to excise the putrid social disease that is rotting away our nation’s moral code in the form of hidden racism, soft bigotry, and those who feel that it is safe in this day and age to openly proclaim their “white nationalism” and beliefs that a darker skin color makes a person less human. I’m going to use my voice, my dollars, and my vote to do what I can to educate and to illuminate, to make strides in the right direction.

I am publicly taking a stand against racism because:

~As a child my mother had to sit in a separate section of restaurants, because she has brown skin. And I love my mom.

~Half of my family is a beautiful rainbow of all shades of brown and black. The other half is a beautiful rainbow of all shades of white and brown. And I love my family.

~Someone’s son went out to buy Skittles and never came home.

~Someone’s son could not breathe and never came home.

~Someone’s son went jogging, and never came home.

~Someone’s daughter, an emergency room technician, was asleep in her own home, and woke up only to die.

~Someone’s daughter was “having a bad day” with her mental health issues and the people who were called to help her, killed her.

~Someone’s daughter, a pre-med grad student, was babysitting her nephew and playing video games when a policeman shot her through a window.

~Someone’s son, unarmed and suffering a mental heath crisis had his hands in the air when he was shot with a “non-lethal round,” prompting him to get back in his Prius and slowly start to drive away from officers, who fired a real bullet this time, killing him for allegedly using the Toyota as a “deadly weapon.” A Prius. Driving away, and not trying to run over anyone.

~Someone’s son and daughter have been systematically oppressed in America since the 1700’s, when many of their ancestors were kidnapped and brought to our soil.

~Someone’s son called out for his mama as he lay dying under a policeman’s knee.

He called for mama. He cried out from depths of his last moments for his mother, a primal instinct to retreat to his safe space, his unconditional love, his warm embrace, his I will always love you, baby. Love you forever. Mama.

I can tell you that if my son was profiled, treated differently because of his skin tone, and murdered, I would unleash a fury unlike anything ever seen. I would be a raging firestorm of savagery. And this morning in the moment when I formed that thought, I was ashamed. Because my belief system enjoins me to love others as I love myself and my own. And I’ve failed to truly practice that when I stay silent; therefore, complicit. I have failed to be righteously angry that racism exists in our nation, and have failed to do much of anything about it.

I have spent my entire life celebrating being Latina, but I’ve never felt the sting of discrimination because I have white skin and blue eyes. If I see my son on the street curb talking to a cop in a police car, it would not trigger anything more in me than curiosity. I would not have the immediate fear that my son may be unduly persecuted.

I will no longer be silent. I will no longer tolerate racism. I will no longer sugar coat my words. I will speak up and out. I stand in solidarity with the brown mamas and black mamas, and I will fight to end racism in our country.


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