There are certain images that linger in our minds, haunting us long after we wish they would fade. Recently, I witnessed a distressing video depicting the tragic death of a young man at the hands of law enforcement. It left me shaken.
My heart raced, and a wave of emotion consumed me. Witnessing such an event carries with it a weight of responsibility and accountability. A part of me might want to retreat into justifications, to detach my family from the victim by labeling him with terms like “criminal” or “threat.” That part of me seeks comfort in denial, but it is misguided.
We must resist the temptation to dehumanize individuals like him, or the many others who have faced similar fates—people like Jordan, Maria, and countless others. If we allow ourselves to think they are less than human, we fail to grasp the true tragedy.
As a white woman, I cannot claim to understand the struggles of the Black community, but I can stand in solidarity with them. We must not let our brothers and sisters endure this pain alone. We must recognize the instinct to rationalize these deaths as flawed; watch the video and reflect. Regardless of his past, what happened to due process? Where is the acknowledgment of humanity?
This is a different kind of cancer, one that affects us all. While some may choose to ignore it, these incidents of violence are symptoms of a much deeper issue. We cannot heal until we admit that we are afflicted with this disease—racism.
My own battle with breast cancer taught me about the importance of acknowledging the source of my suffering. To heal, we must confront the truth, be vulnerable, and recognize that we cannot do this alone. We need to nourish our spirits with honesty and compassion, even if it means sacrificing our comfort.
During my illness, those who loved me bore the burden alongside me. They didn’t claim to know my pain, yet their support made me feel connected. I want to advocate for my Black brothers and sisters, for those who must teach their children to be cautious in a world that can be hostile to them. As Martin Luther King Jr. said, “No one is free until we are all free.”
While I work to heal from my own struggles, I am deeply troubled by the societal sickness around us. I often feel overwhelmed by the enormity of these issues. But then I found myself at a performance by the Community Arts Initiative, which was born out of a desire to address the unrest and challenges facing youth in our communities.
As I watched a diverse group of students perform, the message of unity and healing resonated deeply. With powerful lyrics emphasizing peace and collective action, I felt the room transform. My own child reached for the hand of a stranger, a beautiful moment of solidarity amidst the music.
As I reflected on the evening, I was reminded of the words, “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.” The time has come for us to confront these harsh realities and to stand together.
Let us not allow ourselves to label Alton or others as “other.” There is no “other”—there is only us. As my favorite writer, Leah M., says: “We belong to each other.” This crisis is a cancer; how many more lives must be lost before we awaken to the truth? For those seeking guidance on this journey, I suggest exploring resources like Cleveland Clinic’s podcast on IVF and fertility preservation or considering options for home insemination.
In conclusion, we must face the truth of our social illness and commit ourselves to healing together.