Growing up in East Africa I enjoyed watching American movies like “Coming to America.” The way city life in Metropolises such as New York City were depicted in the movies was enticing to me. I wanted to experience America and American life.
With the seed of “Coming to America” planted in my mind, it made a lot of sense that I would come to America for graduate education. But I was not just a graduate student in the United States. I was also a student with a family. The longer my graduate studies went, the more my mind became convinced that staying in America was the best option for my kids. This is the culture they knew.
So I stayed. I became an American. Little did I realize that the citizenship I received also came with the gift of being a part of not just the triumphant and noble aspects of America, but also the atrocities subjected to Native Americans and enslaved Africans.
Yet, for too long, I failed to appreciate the suffering experienced by Black Americans because of systemic racism. I failed to notice the stress my daughter was experiencing in her predominantly white school. I was more concerned about her grades, so pushing her seemed like the best and most responsible thing a parent would do. So I pushed my daughter. So I reminded her that we control our own destinies and that hard work and dedication to our craft is what leads to the American dream.
I failed to appreciate the gravity of the situation in those white spaces, which subjected my daughter not just to microaggressions but also to blackface. I had no idea how the diabolic caricature impacted Black Americans whenever it reared its demeaning horns. My daughter recommended that year we attend an anti-racism talk on campus. We attended the talk. My daughter was on my right-hand side and my son on my left-hand side. Little by little a light bulb began to shine on the ignorance in my brain about the suffering experienced by Black Americans.
I started to pay attention so I could advocate better for my kids. The more I advocated for my children, the more I saw the insidious nature of a system that filters out Black and Brown children with not just covert, but also overt racism, then turns around to place the blame on them for underperforming.
It’s a system that bends the law to protect the wealthy and powerful, yet plugs the ear of justice with indifference when a Black man is killed by white vigilantes or rogue police officers. But nothing true shall remain hidden.
Truth is, in 1619, children of great people, resilient people, descendants of kings and queens, from the cradle of life, arrived in America in chains. And for 246 years, this land siphoned their Black lives to fuel its economic prowess. And even after June 19th,1865, the stolen children of Africa continue to face abuse and oppression in the land of the free.
Yet, here we are, still feeling our hearts pierced by the words “I can’t breathe …” Treyvonn Martin, Michael Brown, Tamir Rice, Eric Garner, Alton Sterling, Ahmaud Arbery, Elijah McClain, Philando Castile, Freddie Gray, Walter Scott, Stephon Clark, George Floyd … And too many other Black men and boys have been taken violently too soon. In this country.
I can’t breathe … Atatiana Jefferson, Alteria Woods, India Kager, Geraldine Townsend, DeCynthia Clemens, Sandra Bland, Korryn Gaines, Eleanor Bumpurs, Alberta Spruill, Aiyana Stanley-Jones, Kathryn Johnston, Breonna Taylor… And too many other Black women and girls have been taken violently too soon. In this country.
I can’t breathe is as serious as it sounds, yet it doesn’t mean seeking pity. I can’t breathe is a call for all Black people, both within and beyond Africa’s borders to rise from the knee of oppression. I can’t breathe is a wake-up call for Africa to do all it takes to reclaim her stolen children.
An African journalist admitted in a commentary by the Center for Strategic & International Studies that “as a continent, we have failed our African American brothers and sisters … We owe our Black brothers and sisters an apology for centuries of neglect.”
I am sorry.
African governments must demonstrate a serious willingness to combat systemic oppression overseas. In all bilateral or multilateral agreements with non-African nations, Africa must demand a commitment to end racism before signing such agreements.
Before awarding tenders to conduct business in Africa, foreign entities must demonstrate a commitment not just to pay their fair share of taxes, but also to respect the dignity of Black people. Everywhere.
You want our diamonds, our cobalt, our uranium? Treat our Black children better.
You want our cacao, our coffee, our cashews? Treat our Black children better.
You want to drill our oil, to fish our waters? Treat our Black children better.
Just like you place conditions when doing business with us, we shall place conditions as to the way you treat our Black children in your land.
“The truth is, no one of us can be free until everybody is free,” Maya Angelou said.
The battle for freedom must continue. Even on this Juneteenth.
Walter Suza of Ames writes frequently on the intersections of spirituality, anti-racism and social justice. He can be contacted at wsuza2020@gmail.com.
