There By The Grace of God

They are men.

Men with bearded faces, indulgent brown eyes, and welcoming smiles. African American men living in America. One thirty-two years old, the other twenty-six. One living in the deep south, while the other resides in the north, above the Mason Dixon line.

I know their faces and the beautiful bounty of their individual spirits. They are my sons. I delivered them into this world with the promise of love, and the haven of protection.

Decades after their birth, as they take on the responsibility of manhood, I see their once youthful faces in the eyes of Korey, Yusef, Antron, Kevin and Raymond. Infamously known as The Central Park/Exonerated Five. They too are boys, and in their faces, I see fear, the same fear that can be produced on the faces of my sons, and I weep.

On June 1st at approximately 7 p.m. I turned on my laptop and prepared to watch episode 1 of Ava DuVernay’s Netflix series, When They See Us.

Among the millions who viewed its debut I was a day late, but my delinquent timing didn’t matter. It was my attendance to the narrative that was essential. More than four hours later the credits on the screen were no longer visible and I was left with an emotional quake that rumbled my maternal world. Visibly evident, was the pilgrimage of tears that ran down my face and congregated with the fluid that escaped from my nostrils.

The flow of liquid fell despite my countless attempts at holding it hostage in my nasal tunnels. Using my nose as a vacuum, I continuously inhaled to halt its path of travel and its possible entrance beyond my lips.

In each drop of the liquid mixture was an indescribable pain that planted itself in my womb.

The womb of a mother.

An African American mother who lovingly birthed two little brown boys. A mother who incessantly prayed for their safety and the peaceful travel of their path.

Fused with fear was a maternal consciousness that anyone with a thread of emotional compassion felt as they watched the unlawful torment of these five boys.

Korey, Yusef, Antron, Kevin and Raymond.

I say their individual names because they are profoundly relevant. The relevance of their story was passionately labored from the consciousness of a woman, who tapped into the unconsciousness of a city. Ultimately a nation that had possibly been in a state of slumber to the abhorrent injustice of The Central Park Five.

Riveting is a word that’s been used to describe this body of work birthed from the prolific and creative womb of Ms. DuVernay. That description does it an immense disservice.

It reached well beyond its compelling presentation.

It penetrated and found a place of residence within me, leaving a residue. I tried desperately to release myself from the anguish and the enrage that it produced. I pushed and pushed laboring to expel what had afflicted me. Knowing that I had no right, nor did anyone else, to be emancipated from its piercing pain and jolting reality.

Any mother, sister, aunt, grandmother, ANY WOMAN, who has been the vessel of life or crevice of love for a little brown boy can’t afford to be released. And to yield to such a cowardice would be sinful. This story is an ugly and undeniable truth. One that aims its darts from the cowardly position of fear and ignorance while inhabiting a mindset of bigotry.

This is an abounding thread that is woven into America. America with its beauty, privilege, and opportunity, is ingloriously rich with Central Parks and those who journey through it. And it gives a clear message to what can happen, “When They See Us.”

When they see us, I imagine the faces of my sons who have evolved into men and my grandsons for whom the soil is still fresh, and I say, “There by the Grace of God.” Because laying beyond the sockets of America’s prejudicial vision there is an image that is indifferent and apprehensive in the misguided minds of the bigoted, “When They See Us.”

So again, I think of my sons, my grandsons, and the men who are clothed under the rich and beautiful inheritance of melanin, and America, I ask, “When will the weeping end?”