I want to start this off by saying I am deeply hurt by what happened to George Floyd a few days ago. Furthermore, I continue to be saddened at the thought of countless black people in this country who, over centuries, have suffered at the hands of law enforcement officers. Cries for equality and fair treatment have fallen on deaf ears, accountability has been scarce, and these transgressions carried little to no consequences. I have thought about it for a few days now, and it is difficult to put my thoughts into words. It is an emotional subject that evokes a cocktail of feelings including anger, hurt, and sadness. It baffles me that in 2020, we are still working tirelessly to bring awareness to a defect in society that has somehow evaded remedy.
At the age of 14, my mother sent me from Bermuda to the United States with the hope that I would take advantage of the opportunity to realize the American Dream. I now consider the United States my home, and as a citizen of this great country, I am forever grateful for the opportunities it has afforded me. When I watch the video of George Floyd fighting for air and crying out for his mother, I go to a place that no words can describe. Mr. Floyd was of a similar age to my brother, who lives about two-and-a-half hours away from me in Atlanta, and honestly, I think about this every day and ask myself– what if something like this happened to my brother? What would I think? How would I feel? What would I do? For a large part of my life, my brother has been my protector and a father figure. What if he was the one lying there, fighting for his last breath, and crying out for our mother. The sad reality of it is, because of our skin color, this could happen to him, this could happen to me, this could happen to anyone who looks like us. That should not be the case.
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