Black Lives Matter: My first protest
I attended a protest for the first time yesterday.
It's weird that this is my first time. Growing up in Haiti around the time I did, I had plenty of opportunities. But I never went.
Out of fear. I knew what happened during protests. We lived near Radio Soleil for about a decade. We dealt with tear gas and gun shots.
Lack of trust in movements. In 2004, I chose not to take part in the protests. Hubs participated. He brings up that extra piece of experience from time to time. 🙄
But, yesterday, I did.
I needed to. The past two weeks have been heavy.
It was hot. There were a lot of people. I teared up (no surprise there).
I was sad. I was angy. I felt powerless.
My mind kept on going to that night in 1997 when I sat in my aunt's living room in Jersey, watching the news about Abner Louima. I was a teenage girl from Port-au-Prince spending the summer with family. The little bit of English I knew at the time didn't really allow me to understand everything. But I gathered that what happened to him happened solely because of the colour of his skin.
But I felt a bit stronger as I made my way home.