All Lives Don’t Matter

All lives don’t matter when one in particular is murdered more often than others.


As a preschool teacher, I seriously crave adult conversations. Not necessarily ones that are “deep” in nature, but ones that require me to use words without having to double check if my audience is familiar. Ones that discuss current topics. This can lead to over sharing, simply because I let my guard down–the one that has to be up when deal with children. Though, that’s not really fodder for what I intend to discuss. Forgive me if I veer off topic–both children and Twitter foster a habit of digression.


I often sit for a (white, fairly affluent) couple which I really love. The wife in particular. We have discussions about all kinds of topics. Yup even the really uncomfortable ones. And it is enlightening to hear from the perspective of a well-to-do white woman. Though she often doesn’t have what may be considered the “typical” attitude. She genuinely admires the current first couple (look/swagger-wise) as much if not more than I do. And she purports to dislike the cops. Which is crazy considering that she’s a lawyer. And they’re on “the same side of the law”. At least, they’re both sworn to uphold it.


This day in particular, I spent the entire day wishing I could just leave my job and head to Baltimore. To do something. I don’t even know what, really. It was the first day of the uprising, and all the news was claiming that, essentially, Baltimore was in ruins. Nobody knew what had happened to Freddie Gray. It was just apparent that he was brutally murdered by Baltimore Police and they weren’t saying shit.

With all of this on my mind, my heart was heavy. I mean… Another black person murdered by police. Will it fucking end? Another name to learn. Another life, wasted. And call it what you may, black participants or not, white supremacy plays the largest roles in these murders. Second only to the god-complex that carrying a gun in a country which disallows almost everyone the right.


Speaking of which… Anyone wanna donate to me buying a gun?


Anyway, when the aforementioned lawyer came home, a conversation started as per usual. She tells me that she’s been thinking about the Bruce Jenner (only saying Bruce because I don’t know her new name, forgive me, trans ppl) sex change. And what it means to America’s society. And it was a very interesting conversation with both of us opening about different biases we have had in the past about LGBTQQI persons. And how far society has grown. And how far it will grow in the future.


I am without a doubt a staunch supporter of becoming who you are, regardless of societal expectations and influences.


But I didn’t give a shit about Bruce Jenner and her struggles.


I was hurting for another life lost. I was trying to figure out how I can be a part of this revolution. Because that’s what this is. A revolution.


I was focused on not having to fear for my life every time. I see flashing lights near me. Hear sirens in any direction. Fearing a call that somebody I loved was senselessly murdered.


Because that’s what it feels like it’s come to. A constant state of fear.


I told her that it wasn’t my focus. And she listened. And she explained to me her thoughts on the topic of white supremacy, which she openly acknowledges. A surprise from a southern belle turned Princeton/Emory lawyer who lives 2 blocks from the National Cathedral.


I discussed my thoughts on the revolution making its way to DC.


And she offered me her home if things get bad in my neighborhood (an as of yet ungentrified area of DC).


And I refused. Because when things make their way to DC, I will have no choice but to fight.