Why I write about my experience as a black man in America
Cousins in Oakland, August 2019
Today I was thinking about why I write about my experience as a black man in America. The reason I came up with might surprise you—it kind of surprised me. To tell you the truth, I don’t write because I am always deeply emotionally impacted every time an injustice happens to a black man. I’m not writing because I experience a gut-wrenching feeling every time something happens. That may sound weird, but let me explain.
Every time I see an injustice occur towards a person of color, it starts up a frenzy. Now, more than ever, people get wild about it. For a few days, my social media feed gets inundated with posts calling for justice or advocating for more personal awareness and reflection on these issues from people of all colors and creeds. It’s interesting because nowadays there seems to be a social pressure around the virtue of posting about these issues, though I’m not saying that posting is a bad thing to do (thanks for doing it y’all). Anyway, after all the posting begins, my phone normally blows up. I have a lot of friends who lovingly reach out to see how I’m doing, ask questions, and show solidarity. That stuff is all beautiful, and I am both thankful and tired.
I’m thankful that we are seeing (a few of) these injustices brought into the light. I’m thankful that those who may not have noticed before are now exposed to these horrific experiences. I’m thankful for all of the people who are both learning and loving in these moments. I’m thankful, yet at the same time I’m tired. I’m tired because I don’t know how much more I can care. I don’t think I am even writing because I deeply care or am deeply empathetic.
What I mean is that I don’t think that we as humans have the emotional capacity to take in AND feel deeply about all of these things that are happening in the world. I know I don’t have that mental or emotional or relational capacity for it. I think it’s a pretty new phenomena that in an instant humans can know about an injustice (or any news) that happened thousands of miles away. There was a day and time where the only news people really knew about was what happened in their own city, and the rest of “world news” came with less speed and in less quantity.
Now that I can know anything and everything (and know what everyone thinks about anything and everything), I feel overloaded—or maybe the word is “overwhelmed”. I am at the point where I just don’t have the capacity to be empathetic about each injustice. Don’t get me wrong—these issues matter. They matter so much, but I feel distant and almost numb. I don’t feel numb just because these things keep on happening, I feel numb because I don’t have the capacity to carry all of these moments over and over and over again. I think some have called it “compassion fatigue." That’s not meant to be an excuse for inaction or for lack of compassion, it’s just a reality that I need to acknowledge. So then why do I write and post?
If you follow me on social media you may be surprised to hear that I’m at the point where I “don’t care.” It may seem insincere or hypocritical for me to publicly and passionately post and write about these injustices, while at the same time privately not be emotionally connected at all. You might be wondering why I post and write about things I don’t feel.
I write and post for my kids.
Because the public has become aware of the unjust murder of two different black men this month, I have received loving texts from friends. Many of them ask where they can start or what they can do. The only reply that comes to mind for me is, “Help your kids understand.”
I love kids, right now my friends are having kids, and I hope that one day I get to have kids. I care about the world that those kids are going to live in. I want to shape it. I want them to have it better than we do now, so I’ve decided that my emotional and mental fatigue and capacity today does not get the final word on how I will participate in shaping the world of tomorrow. I write and post not for personal catharsis, but as a bold and maybe defiant act that may help shape my kid’s world. I write as mission and ministry. This moment is not just about me right now, and this moment is not just about you right now. This moment is about them, later. This is about my kids and your kids.
It may sound naïve, but I think that the act of you reading my thoughts and experiences is a small way that you and I are actually working together to create a better world for our kids.
That’s why I write about my experience as a black man in America.
