I am fortunate to have a roof to sit on in nice weather. Last evening, as I was having “Zoom drinks” with a friend, the sky above me buzzed with a half-dozen helicopters, so loud they drowned out the conversation. The Barclay Center is a 10 min walk from my house in Brooklyn.

Let me tell you a story. One night, when I was maybe seven or eight, me and one of my brothers were playing in our living room. Hollis, Queens, African-American neighborhood, front lawns and back yards neatly kept. It was dark and we were playing with flashlights.

We were having a ball. Suddenly my father came downstairs and turned all the lights on. We were startled. “Sit down”, he said. We did. He looked serious. “Do not ever, under any circumstances, ever turn on a flashlight in this house”, he said. I protested “We were just playing”.

My father got quieter. “If you turn on a flashlight in the dark inside the house, the police will think there’s a burglar in the house. And they will come and bust open our front door and shoot us in our own living room. “We’re kids”, I said. Dad looked us in the eyes.

“They won’t care. They’ll shoot you like a dog, right here. And when we come down the stairs they’ll shoot us too.” He took the flashlights and put them back in a drawer. “Go to bed”.
We thought he was exaggerating. It didn’t take long for us to understand that he was not.

A couple of years later, I had a conversation with my great Aunt Dorothy. She recounted to me her childhood. When she was young, she said, she knew plenty of people who had been slaves when they were children. This seemed impossible to me...and then I did the math.

So it’s this - George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Trayvon, more names than I can remember or process, all day, every day, forever, trying, it seems, to get across one single idea: “You and your family and your life are worthless.”

It is only because our parents did not let us believe it that we are still alive. But we are not “fine”. If I could put my hand on your forehead and transmit directly into your mind the crushing weight of this “history”, which is the present...I wouldn’t do it.

To do that, to saddle you with that for all your days, I would have to hate you. I’d do it to Amy Cooper, though. “Take THAT.” As someone here said, what happened to George Floyd is what Amy Cooper hoped would happen to Christian Cooper. And it often works. It could have worked.

A colleague emailed today and said “I hope you have a chance to relax and enjoy the nice weather today.” I am on my roof. The weather is spectacular. The helicopters are gone. But I can’t relax. I am exhausted, and all the sunshine and loveliness of the day are a mockery.

The armed protesters at the Michigan state house were demanding haircuts and pool parties. African-Americans are demanding the right to walk down the street and not be killed by “neighbors”, Amy Cooper, or the police.

Folks had better listen. “No justice, no peace” means exactly what it says. 400 years of forebearance.... but there are limits. Read and learn if you don’t know the truth; the resources are endless. And then do something. Because this crap WILL end. One way or another. Peace.