Dear America. Land of the Free. Home of the Brave. Where every life matters, right? Or maybe, not so much.
See, Miss America you’ve brought me so much yet taught me so little. So little worth knowing. So little worth sharing. The only thing I’ve learned really is how to stop caring. Caring for those who neglect my darker skin sisters and brothers. For those who lack compassion, understanding and perspective. For those who have the nerve to ask “Why do black people get a whole month of celebration?” My dear America, we get one month because you get the other 11. Because you stole the first 200 years from us. Because we deserve to celebrate the skin we’re in. You preach equality for all, but laugh when you see another fall. Or maybe it was you that tripped us in the first place?
The poor are looked down upon, trapped in cycles that you created, Old America. The rich are harshly judged for being the one percent that never had to try that hard to get where they’re at. And those caught in the middle choose to ignore the plight of their brown skin counterparts because it’s just easier that way. We live in a country where money matters, yet they tell us we should do what we “love.” But what if what you love doesn’t pay the bills? What if the correlation between success and wealth is just the result of choosing to ignore the cycle so many of us are kept in.
Tell me why? Oh Dear America. A country so “grand” refuses to see that our views still have to expand. Our eyes may be open, but you look the other way when it gets too uncomfortable. When it gets too real. When your people are begging for the justice, equality and acceptance we’ve never gotten. We celebrate Black history, Black excellence, Black strength because you refuse to, America. You choose not to. So ask not why we get a whole month, but rather why wouldn’t we? America you were built on the backs of people with no voice, no choice or rights. Of people who fought for basic human rights in times when our rights were an “option” to you. Of people with minds so powerful and inventive they are commodified for your gain. Of those who laid foundations on which you’ve built upon.
So Dear America we celebrate now, in the month of February, for those who cannot. For those who had no voice, no rights or recognition. A month of Black history, Black excellence and Black strength to remind those that have come before and to show those that will come after; We are beautiful. We are strong. We are equal. And we are Black.
Catera Clark , a Contributing Writer for the Voice, can be reached for comment at CClark21@wooster.edu.