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  • Writer's pictureaymexume

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.

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