On Trayvon: Swimming in An Ocean of Words and Not a Drop to Speak

  When I was in middle school we learned about water and survival. The worst place to be stranded, we learned, was in the middle of the ocean. You may be surrounded by water and tempted to drink, but in doing so, you would further dehydrate yourself because of ocean water's chemical composition. 

This isn't about Water. 

This is about my brother in the struggle, Trayvon Martin. 

When I heard the verdict, I was speechless. I remember looking at my Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram as my sisters and I watched the verdict announcement. And I felt like I was drowning in words. 

Everyone has something to say. And this isn't an indictment or a criticism of that reality. We need to keep talking because we need to keep this moving. 

But even though Twitter and FB were the same places where I felt comforted and empowered in other moments of the Country's History, these spaces became a location of sadness and grief for me. 

I suppose I'm feeling that my words are not enough. That I want My Brother back. That I want to wake up from a bad dream. 

There are not enough words to describe what I'm feeling. Each time I've started a Facebook post or tweet to address the situation, I've deleted it. That Water still does not hydrate my thirst for Peace. 

For once, the often-verbal, word-loving, writing-is-my-passion Me is dying. I'm dehydrated. 

My own words are not enough. I seek solace in the words of other justice leaders, and most times I'm comforted. 

But it's not about me. Or even my own comfort. This is about the reality that all over our country, children are dying. Not only at the hands of gun violence. 

We have killed them when we said they weren't smart enough for AP classes, so we removed that option from their schools (and made them less marketable college students in the process). 

We have killed them when we said they didn't need access to affordable and understandable health coverage, including sexual health counseling. 

We have killed them when we refused to stand as a resounding voice for them, when we refused to believe their cries for help, refused to honor their dreams, and refused to help them see that they are indeed Divine and Wonderful. 

This feeling is not just from the story of Brother Trayvon. But his story highlights a reality we have failed to acknowledge for some time.... As a community AND as a country, we have failed our children. We have not stood as their advocates as we should have. And if anything can come out of this series of events, I hope that we are reminded of the commitment we have to our Children. In Florida, Flatbush, AND in Far Rockaway. 

Refill, please?