Beloved, I want to share with you a moment of bare and vulnerable transparency. I have yet to watch the video of the brutal murder of Sonya Massey. I likely never will. Hearing the audio resonate through the radio news shows has woven yet another thread of anguish within me and into the fabric of Black American lives, seemingly required to endure endless cycles of trauma. I feel it deep past my chest and down to my stomach—I have met my required trauma quota. I am afraid that witnessing the repetitive murder of my people will harden my heart and numb me to the pain and our humanity. I believe my soul cannot bear witness to the ending of another Black body by the vicious and punitive hands of America’s guard exempt from punishment, accountability, or penitence. The America’s guard that choked Eric Garner, disappeared Sandra Bland, broke Philando Castile’s bones then filled his back with bullets, snatched from us the opportunity to see the future of Tamir Rice and so many more.
The police - just an extension of America’s guard of White supremacy. White supremacy has always been cloaked in the authority of uniformed enforcers, their brutality a grim reminder of a legacy that has resisted change. The badge, gun and dead black bodies become symbols of a deeper, systemic cruelty, perpetuating the same injustices that have stained our history with blood, sorrow, and funeral processions. This country has mastered the making of orphans.
I wonder what Ms. Sonya’s favorite hymn was. Would she have gone to church on Sunday to sing "Precious Lord, Take My Hand," "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot," or "Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior"?
Pass me not, O gentle Savior
Hear my humble cry
While on others Thou art calling
Do not pass me by
My body and mind are fatigued from the war that America continues to wage against the innocent—Black, poor, immigrant, and marginalized peoples—both at home and abroad. Yet, in my fatigue, I find the strength to demand change, to hope for justice, and to strive for a world where our humanity is acknowledged and honored.
Savior, Savior
Hear my humble cry
While on others Thou art calling
Do not pass me by
Sonya's last words were, "I rebuke you in the name of Jesus." My father is a pastor, so I spent all my life in the church—from running through pews as a child after service to accompanying the praise and worship team from behind the drums. To fix your lips to rebuke, means you have felt a deeply evil spirit of malice, one that must be confronted with the power of faith and conviction. The act of rebuking signifies a profound confrontation with darkness, a recognition of the malevolence that seeks to destroy. It’s an assertion of spiritual strength, a call for justice, and a demand for the restoration of dignity.
In those final moments, Sonya’s invocation of Jesus was not just a plea for divine intervention; it was a declaration of her resistance against the profound injustice and cruelty she faced. Her rebuke was a cry for redemption and a testament to her unyielding spirit in the face of an all-to-common suffering. Sonya’s words, echoing her faith and her fight, transcend her own tragic end, so let us make it become a rallying cry for all who resist the forces of oppression and violence.
I rebuke you in the name of Jesus, in the name of justice, in the name of every life stolen, every future denied, and every heart broken by the relentless cruelty of an unjust system. We are bound together by our shared pain and our unyielding hope. Our past, present, and future are intertwined, a continuum of struggle and resistance that demands recognition and reform. Today, my soul does not want for sorrowful hymns but screams N.W.A lyrics “Fuck the Police.”
Sonya Massey’s story carries with it a profound historical weight. She is a descendant of William K. Donnegan, whose brutal lynching in the early 20th century was was a catalyst for the formation of an organization that has since become a cornerstone in the struggle for justice - The National Associstion for the Progression of Colored People (NAACP).
The significance of Sonya’s lineage is a stark reminder of the unbroken chain of violence and resistance in our history. In this tragic continuity, we see the echoes of our past reverberating through the present, underscoring the urgent need for systemic change.
As we reflect on Sonya’s heritage, we are called to honor her legacy by continuing the fight for the justice and equality her ancestors sought to achieve. From every street puddle to every lake, from ocean to ocean, from river to sea, I hope that we, as people with more in common than difference, can unite as ONE. In our unity, we find our strength, and in our strength, we find our liberation. Let's stand together, not just in mourning but in action, to transform our collective grief into a powerful force for justice and equality. For in our togetherness lies the promise of a future where no one is left behind, where every voice is heard, nobody left mingled, and where every life is cherished.
Peace - Ayinde
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