Hate in the Time of Corona

Alberta Wilson

antoutoume@aol.com

Hate in the time of Corona

It seemed interminable — the 8 minutes and 46 seconds I stood alone in my Florida living room, in honor of George Floyd, who had been murdered by a white police officer who pressed his knee into the neck of the black man for that long. As I watched the Minneapolis memorial service, I felt one tear, then another course down my cheek as I stood. Why was I crying? Immediately, I channeled the distress of being immobilized, of being held down of being suffocated in a kneed neck choke. Outside of the moment, I saw images of strange fruit swinging in the southern wind, of rubber snakes spewing high- powered water on citizens soon to be crowned by clubs named Billy. Eight minutes was long enough for me to reflect on the hatred so freely given to so many by so many; the hatred generously passed down through generations, practiced, perfected, at times even legalized.

Those 8min46sec also in my solitude created a renewed solidarity with hope in the face of oppression. A solidarity with a determined humanity, to survive at all costs. Even the cost of being shackled under the weight of four human beings until the very air is blocked from leaving through its designated passages.

I live in America so it is no surprise that I observe hate. I am a Black woman in America so no one should be surprised that I know/have known hate. Growing up in America, I was taught that love conquers all. Surprise! It hasn’t so far…