March 8, 2000
Dear Brothers an Sisters,
What is there to say? We are black in the United States of America.
The news of the acquittals reached me in Chicago on Saturday morning February 26, 2000. The news brought with it anger and frustration. Words cannot express the feeling of desperation that washed over me when I heard that the police officers had been exonerated of any criminal responsibility for the death of Mr. Diallo. I found myself asking, what is the point? Nobody cares. The people who are charged to protect and serve me could kill me in the street on the way home from work.
I have no illusions about this nation. Although most Americans wish me no personal harm, they don’t give a damn about me as a Black man. I know that there will not be a day any time soon when I, my children or my children’s children will not hear the whisper; “Remember you are Black. Remember your place.”
On days like February 26, it is easy to feel sorry for myself as a Black man. It is easy to hate the racist, sexist, and homophobic people of America. It is easy to call this country evil. It’s easy to call for blood, to “holler” Revolution.
The reality is that there is nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. No place to go where everyone is treated just. Evil is everywhere. But we live on shores that have a dream of justice and a means to fight for it. We have freedom of speech, assembly, and press. We have a tradition of agitation and Revolution of ideas. We have a history of positive social change and expansion of the meaning of freedom.
What drives me in the face of over 500 years of defilement of my Black body? The spirit of my ancestors, the idea of forming a more perfect union, and the sacrifices of the people who are forging and have forged paths towards economic and social justice drive me. I will not disgrace the honor of my ancestors who suffered the forced emigration of the Middle Passage by not claiming my birth right as an American. I will not forsake the memory of those who came before me and faced the horrors of slavery to make possible the economic foundations of this great republic by cowering in the presence of injustice. I will not disappoint my mother who as a single parent raised three children and taught us that God walks with us and has given us the power to stand against governments and municipalities that seek to oppress us. Mr. Diallo is the latest and most visible episode of a continuing struggle between justice and the powers of oppression. I will not let him fade into a dim memory of pain. I keep him alive in my words and he lives in my tears.
To my Brothers and Sisters who are actively joined in the struggle, I applaud you. I ask you to continue the fight with renewed vigor. I ask you to build coalitions with those whom you may disagree. I ask you to remember that the fight for justice is for all people, and to not be guilty of the mind-set of our oppressors.
To the Brothers and Sisters who sit as spectators in the struggle, you must remember you are victims as long as you do not take control of your destiny. You are not helpless. You have justice on your side. Our ancestors will guide us.
The children of the African Diaspora have traveled a long and dangerous road. We have cut a path followed by many who have passed us by and forgotten or never knew of our sacrifices. But we must drive on for ourselves, for our children, and for all of God’s children. Do not let Amadou and others who have made the ultimate sacrifice die in vain. Fight back with your minds and your heart.
Peace
