I speak it and scream it and scribe it because it needs to be communicated.
It is the fact that another unarmed black man was gunned down for the simple crime of being black, being injured, and wanting help.
I'm tired of it, exhausted really, but will keep on screaming it, even if it makes someone uncomfortable.
Because I am a mother of black males - four of them - and the three that are alive are black men who will be judged by the color of their skin before anything else. Because the opera vocalist could have been gunned down before his beautiful bass could have sounded out a melody, before my Navy veteran could have saluted - never mind that he was a Petty Officer or that he served admirably in a time of war; before my lyricist and entrepreneur could have offered you lines from his hard lemonade and asked you to buy his CD; before any of that, they would have had their bodies riddled with 10 bullets from a cop their age who saw their race before their need for help.
This is why I will keep saying it, even if relatives in multiracial relationships tell me I am talking too much about race, even if friends think I am too bold, even if because what if it was your son? What if it was my white friend's 18 year old son who is about to graduate from high school in May? What if it was her son that had a car accident and was staggering for help and rang the bell of a black woman who called the police and the police was a trigger happy black cop?
So, there is a reason I keep talking about it, writing about it. Same reason my Jewish friends still remember the Holocaust, because if we stop talking about it, it will be forgotten, brushed under the rug, brushed over.
I keep talking about it because it is necessary and I have to for the sake of my sons and the sake of my daughters who will one day be black mothers.