Tonight I sit at my computer after an excessively hard week at work. I was somewhat demoted at work because I did the right thing for the institution I work for. As many might know, doing the right thing never results in doing the right thing for yourself.
I cry because I am forced to choose between keeping my black family together or keeping my black family together. After 2 weeks of riots, which deeply effected me, and Covid, I am faced with the choice of sending my children to Uganda or sending my children to Uganda and suffering the loss alone, alone.
I sit and run the numbers at the computer. I cry. I think about work and the insensitive, frivoulous existence of my superiours, colleagues and their concerns and I wonder, as I cry and my children hear me as they are trying to fall asleep.
They ask, "Mommy, are you crying?"
They come to see.
They hug me and return to their bed and cry by themselves.
It puts a new meaning on the phrase, "Institutional racism has had it's knee on the neck of the black family for 400 years."
This black family was just the unlikely target of a stray bullet and we've been targetted for 10 years and destroyed becuse we look too much like the target.
