We’re almost equal.
As soon as we can stand tall enough, we cross our right hands over our firm hearts and pledge allegiance to the starry blanket over the cradle of liberty, the land of the free, the home of the brave. The words ‘liberty and justice for all’ are etched into our brains before we know how to use them in a sentence. It’s almost funny how a child can make a better use of the word justice in a sentence than our indivisible nation. It’s almost unbelievable that the stars and stripes mean more to the few than the scars and strife of the ever-increasing many. It’s hard to fathom the fact that the fires in the street touch more hearts than the women burying their sons eighteen years late. For some, life is a death sentence, you see. There’s one sentence that our nation makes no mistake in finishing.
From their first breath black lives consign to an ever-lasting fight to prove that we deserve the breath in our lungs. Each day is a gritty privilege, for who can tell which of the crimes will end up putting a bullet in our chests? It’s almost cruel that we only ever learned Ten Amendments and Ten Commandments in grade school—for whatever reason, Thou shall not wear a hoodie while black didn’t make the cut. Those who were born with the freedom to grow however tall and however old in peace can praise how far we’ve come, but the ones they call demons are fighting to stay alive long enough to witness how far we have to go.
We were never warned that the right of the people to bear arms against teenagers and cut them down in the street would not be infringed upon. A mother buries her son and the man that sprinkled his chest with bullets can still carry his weapon with national support and pride. He’s rewarded with the privilege of waking up each morning in a room without bars, while countless families from sea to shining sea are reminded that our lives are worth less than their badges. Sure, in theory, we can claim the same rights as any other man in these United States of America. We send our sons and daughters overseas to fight for life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness. It’s funny how we don camouflage uniforms not to hide from our enemies, but rather to blend in with our allies.
Maybe one day we will be able to march without tear gas burning our lungs and dogs snapping at our heels. Maybe one day this nation will feel the same heartache at the loss of a human life as they do when they see police cars burning and red, white, and blue fabric touching the ground. How do we wake up every morning and pledge our allegiance to a flag that gets more respect than the life of a young man?
Are we almost there? We are running out of blood to shed. How much will it take to prove that our lives are worth living?