Definition: distress, typically as a result of arousing feelings or memories associated with a particular traumatic experience.
To say we’ve all been triggered these last few days, weeks, hell months, would be an understatement.
Triggered when we turn on the news, triggered when we scroll down our timelines, triggered when we open our eyes. Because as African Americans, traumatic experiences happen way too often in our day-to-day lives.
*virtual show of hands*
How many of you have been racially profiled in your lifetime?
*waits for just about every Black person to raise their hand
How many people have lost someone due to police brutality?
How many people have been called a racial slur?
How many people have been discriminated against in the workplace due to your skin color?
My point exactly. It’s all too frequent, familiar, and unfair.
So in times like this what did I decide to do? Attend a protest! I figured, hey! It takes a statement being made to see change right?
My forefathers marched, they were beaten, arrested, and even killed, so I could attend any university of my choice, eat at any restaurant, and drink from any fountain. They thought about me, their kids, and their kids’ kids, way before we were even born. So going to a protest was only right.
So I put a post on Instagram asking when the next one was, texted my high school homegirl Lauren (she’s always down to ride), and got ready to follow in the steps of those before me.
Now I know it sounds like I’m living in the 1960s, but newsflash: it’s 2020.
Yes, the same 2020 that took Kobe from us, the same 2020 with the killer hornets, and the same 2020 with COVID19. We are in the sixth month of the year, and it feels like the sixth year in a year (if that makes sense).
I say all that to say, me and Lauren did not tell our parents we were going to the protest. They’re 100% down for the cause, of course, but knowing your young, 20 somethings year old daughters are going to a march that may end in a riot, arrest, or even worst, can be frightening. And I’m sure it would have taken each one of their blood pressures through the roof.
So in true (high school) Lauren and Jalyssa fashion, we ain’t tell em.
As I was getting dressed the Coronavirus was the last thing on my mind. I know it’s a big deal, and a real thing, but I didn’t want that to discourage myself from going and standing with my people. Because again, those before me did just that. So I grabbed my mask, gloves, water, and met Lauren outside.
The protest we attended was on Tuesday, June 2nd on the south side of Chicago. It was being held by the Bright Star Church and started behind Dyett High School.
Now see, I’m the one who found the info on the march. And if you know me, you know directions are not my thing. AKA I’m directionally challenged AKA I ain’t know where we were going. But we saw small groups of people walking in one direction with signs, so we decided to follow them (sounds random and dangerous but it was the middle of the day, in the Bronzeville area, so we were good).
As we walked down Martin Luther King Drive, feeling the breeze, there were people on their porches who looked like us. This was so nice for me to see! Because this time three months ago I rarely (emphasis on rarely) saw people who looked like me. I was living on the North Side of Chicago and let’s just say there aren’t too many of “us” up there.
So as I walked through Bronzeville I was speaking! I was:
“hey how y’all doing?”
“Hello!”
With a huge grin on my face!
Because not only am I naturally friendly, but I wanted to be there. At a time like this I wanted to be around people who could understand my frustration and heartbreak. And no matter how many issues we may have, no one understands a black person... like another black person.
So we finally make it to where the large crowd was and my eyes literally lit up! There were hundreds, if not thousands, of people walking down Martin Luther King Drive with bass in their voices and signs in their hands.
The words Hands Up, Don’t Shoot, Black Lives Matter, and Justice for George Floyd echoed the area. It was powerful to say the least.
And not only was it powerful, it was very organized.
The media has a tricky way of making it seem like all protests are chaotic and people are angry and we use these big crowds to intimidate the police. And we don’t have enough self control to not cause violence so officers need things like tear gas, and rubber bullets to keep things orderly.
Excuse my French, but that’s some bullshit. And excuse my French again, but the media is damn near always full of bullshit.
So I will say it again: the protest on Tuesday, June 2nd in Chicago, IL was peaceful, powerful, and yes very organized.
There were people handing out waters, Pastors praying, city officials giving encouraging words, and absolutely no violence.
Because we’re not animals. We have sense, and a lot of it. We simply want justice for the lives that have been lost, the names that have been forgotten, and the unfairness we have to face on the daily. Racism is alive and real, and marches like this help fight the cause.
Sidenote, did I mention everyone had a mask on? Yeah, cause we’re smart like that.
After a few hours of marching, and protesting, and being united, we all got prayed for by one of the local Pastors.
Again, very powerful, and very necessary. Because in this day and age, all you gotta do is be black.
You can black, with a job or without a job.
You can be black, with a degree or without a degree.
You can be black, with license and registration, or without license and registration.
You can be black with a conceal and carry or without a conceal and carry.
All you gotta do is be black and the police WILL fuck with you. Or it doesn’t even have to be the police, anybody of a different race can literally call the police to have them fuck with you.
And again, we’re in 2020.
Not sure if I said this earlier, but another reason I wanted to go to the march was so I could tell my future kids about it.
I think about my future kids a lot! What I’m going to teach them, how their personalities will be, their interests.
And if they’re anything like their mom, they’re going to ask lots of questions (I stay with a question). So when they’re reading their digital textbooks about the year 2020, and they ask me “Hey Ma, what were you doing during this time?” I wanted to be able to provide a real, substance-filled answer. I wanted my kid to know that Momma was out there marching too.
So let’s back track:
I thought about the past, and how my forefathers marched, protested, and made statements for what they believed in. I thought about how they didn’t take no for an answer, and essentially were about that life.
Then I thought about my future, and how my kids will have questions. And how my kids will need an example of how to use their voice and stance to influence change.
But the one thing I did not think about... was the present. This current moment.
Present me wanted to go to the march for all these things. But I had no idea the emotions that would come with it.
When I got home that day I took a shower and KO’d pretty quickly. But when I got up the next morning something just didn’t feel right.
My body felt tense, and it’s not cause of the walking.
I didn’t want to get out of bed. My energy was low, and I just didn’t want to be bothered. So what did I do? I got on Instagram.
Big mistake.
Disclaimer: if you’re triggered by things going on in the African American community Instagram won’t make it any better.
Because every other post is someone being forcefully and aggressively detained by police. And then every couple posts are messages saying Justice for ______
And let’s not forget those alarming posts from the most idiotic, racist, and privileged President there has ever been: Mr. Tonald Dump
So again, Instagram did not help me feel better. But I had to login to work in 30 minutes. I needed to be professional and facilitate these meetings, and push through because that’s what black people are supposed to do...
Meanwhile just the night before I was chanting hands up don’t shoot. I was chanting Justice for George Floyd. I was screaming that black lives truly do matter.
Yeah, all this, in 2020.
And it was hard to put on face like I was okay. My Mother often encourages me to “turn it on” when I go to work. Because the reality is, I have a job to maintain and people and clients that depend on me.
So even though I felt emotionally exhausted I turned it on the best I could. I participated in small talk, I fake chuckled like it was really funny, and ran straight to my bed as soon as my shift was over.
It was a lot. This was a lot. And I wasn’t prepared. Because again, I marched not thinking what effect it would have on me in the present. I didn’t know I would feel so enraged. Like damn, me and my people really gotta ask NOT to be killed?
Like so you telling me a white person can do the same crime as a black person and they ain’t gotta die? Okay so you saying because I’m black, the police won’t even give people who look like me a chance to explain? We just automatically get shot, or detained, or a knee to our neck?
It’s like... this is a lot.
This is a lot. This is a lot. This is a lot.
And I don’t have the answer. I don’t know what more black people have to do, to not get fucked with. I mean we had a whole Black President, and some races still believe we are beneath them.
And again, we are in the year 2020.
I don’t even know what else to say, but just know I been hella triggered.
And if I’m this triggered, and I’ve never even been arrested, just imagine how a Mom who lost her son or daughter to police brutality feels. Imagine someone whose witnessed a black person being killed just for being black feels.
But we posed to trust them. The police, I mean. And call on them in times of trouble. When it seems like they’re causing more trouble than anybody.
Man look. I just wanted to say how I feel. Because I feel a lot. My Mom has often told me that I’m pretty sensitive and she’s right. Cause this right here is a lot. And instead of stuffing my face with ice cream, and tacos, and trying to sleep my frustrations and anxieties away, I decided to talk about it. Cause that’s what a blog is for anyway right?
So feel free to talk about how you feel too. Whether it’s with family, friends, in the comments of this story, on Twitter, Facebook, whatever. Do what YOU gotta do to mentally wrap your head around all this. Because it’s a lot, and who knows how long this will be our reality.
So to everyone who has skin like me, stay encouraged, stay safe, and remember our lives truly do matter.
Peace.