I read an article today that noted that the Philly City Council has formally apologized for the deadly 1985 bombing of the Black Liberation group called MOVE. Police used war weapons on people who wanted freedom. Five years before I was born.
We deserve so many apologies. Yet, we spend our days, careers, and lives convincing people that there is a problem in the first place. And that’s the plight we are on after we’ve realized we shouldn’t have spent the first part of our lives working so damn hard to make White people feel comfortable with our presence.
I’m so sad that we’ve been treated so badly. I’m so sad that trauma and pain run through our veins just as concentrated as beautiful melanin and invincible magic does.
35 years ago… bombs were dropped on Black people in Philly. The recency of that weighs on me. It angers me that these horrific scenes play out in plain sight on a regular basis, yet we’re fighting for people to emphasize with us and admit that an attack on Black bodies exists.
The article stated that 11 people died, including five children. My heart breaks for every life that was impacted as a result of that loss. This was evil. Criminal. Barbaric. Hateful. Disgusting. Yet, it’s easier for people to prescribe these adjectives to a 14-year old black boy with sagging pants than white officials.
Who is here to save us from the creators of the laws of this land? Who can bend the rules to truly protect the people who were brought here in chains in alignment with the laws of the land? Who is here to protect us from the indoctrination that teaches us that Black people’s history is limited to the span of American slavery to the Civil Rights movement?
Who is going to account for all the of the acts of brilliance, all of the inventions, all of the shifts in culture, all of the triumphs, all of the pain, all of the heritage, all of the mishandling… of Black people.
Sweet, Philly… my heart breaks for you today.