It’s 1:14 a.m. and I am in my home in Dallas, Texas and I can’t sleep. My husband is trapped in his office in downtown Dallas tonight because that area of the city was on lockdown due to police shootings not far away from his building.
His office is right near the freeway. But, my real fear and concern is not for him being able to get to the highway easily. It’s what might happen to him once he is on the highway on the short stretch of road between downtown Dallas and our home fifteen minutes away.
This morning began with vivid, graphic images of brutality. And I am one of the many people who wept for strangers I never knew, but for whom I felt pangs of sorrow nonetheless. I tried to move past it with every step today, but there was no escaping it, because my skin is brown. And my husband’s skin is brown. And our three sons are three variations of our beautiful caramel and chocolate brown blended together in loving perfection.
So, I can’t sleep. Not because my husband is involved in any inappropriate activity as the media normally seems to love to depict most black men. The man to whom I have been married for almost 20 years is doing what he has done every day of his life ― working hard to take care of his family; setting an excellent example for his three sones of what it means to be a man of integrity, honor and loving self-sacrifice for one’s family. He was simply working diligently at his law firm as he does when a deal has to close. But, tonight once he steps out of the confines of his secure office building, he is another black man who may be targeted just for being…
“I tried to move past it with every step today, but there was no escaping it, because my skin is brown.”
I’ve seen too many videos now of black men and women being beaten by the officers sworn to uphold their safety. I’ve seen too many juries acquit men who they’ve watched brutally beat other human beings because those human beings’ brown skin somehow made them suspect and rendered them unworthy of a trial, judge and jury. I’ve heard too many Americans on the streets, and even as media commentators, justify the brutality of African Americans whose very melanin-tinged presence or existence made someone “understandably afraid” or uncomfortable enough to warrant abuse or even death…
So, for the first time in almost 20 years, I had to plead with my husband to please, “just stay at your office tonight” because I need to know that you are safe. I need to know that your smile will greet me again in the morning. I need to know that your arms will be there to hold me and comfort me as we face whatever the new day brings. I need to know that our sons won’t have to attend your funeral or go to a hospital and see their father beat down just because he was driving home from working hard to take care of his family while black ― on the wrong night in the city we call home because on nights like this, it is not our city. On nights like this, brown skin can make us targets and suspects even when we aren’t doing anything suspicious except being just as we were created to be ― brown and beautiful.
So, I can’t sleep. I can’t watch another news story. I can’t do anything but try to peck out this unedited piece to try to keep myself calm and steady until morning comes and he can come home to me again and I can hold him and know that together we will face whatever comes next in our beloved America.