Dear Darnella,
I so deeply wish that the only angst possessing you right now was born from the crossroads forking adolescence and young adulthood.
That the fateful Monday on which you and your cousin took a walk to the store resulted in nothing more deadly than teasing jabs and salty snacks.
That you walked out of the store to the cool, relieving rush of crispy Minnesota spring air and the avoidance of viral respiratory droplets.
How I wish you were at peace.
But instead, you stand traumatized by the nightmarish scene that stained the streets of Minneapolis, which are now alight with fiery grief and rage.
What you exhibited in the face of state-sanctioned murder was patriotism of a harrowing caliber.
With your video, you entered the catalog of citizen journalists — the truest patriots among us — whose voices have narrated our lives for centuries. Just as the 19th-century works of Ida B. Wells documented America’s bloodthirst for Black bodies, your video reminds that our society continues to act torturously against those whom it deems less than human, less than valuable. And too often, this behavior is rewarded. We have seen it in the handling of Tamir Rice’s killing, as well as the murders of Michael Brown and Eric Garner.
We know that this was not the first time Derek Chauvin attacked one of the citizens who he had sworn to protect — one of the citizens whose skin color rendered him prey, instead. Your camera was a tool of justice, and your bravery, a mechanism of unrelenting patriotism. We demand a brighter tomorrow. And we stand with George Floyd just as we stand with you.
It is because of your lens that the nation has borne witness to America’s deadliest paradox: the moral leader of the world continuing to fail by its own standards.
Some have been choosing to question your intentions and belittle your contributions. They allege your perspective was not enough. Instead, critics lament, you should have more fully inserted yourself into the fight for Floyd's life.
They are wrong.
Darnella, in times of unwarranted criticism and hatred, remember that those who spend energy vilifying you, rather than examining the state-sanctioned murder that you documented, will not be a part of the solution. Your camera did not create the American police state, and your body, or life, should not be expected to be given for its reform. Any other implication is a form of violence in itself.
That you, a child, witnessed this murder and have been forced to relive it online, is trauma that few of us can understand from behind a screen.
I am so sorry.
I heard you when you said that you “don’t know how to feel." When your trauma cried out.
In your tears, I saw the dysfunction of a nation and the despair of its most vulnerable people.
But we cannot drown in our tears, beloved.
Darnella, you and I are alive. We must honor that. The murder of George Floyd was senseless. No meaning can be made of it. So, let us envelop his life into the folds of our own. Let us work tirelessly in pursuit of our dreams. Let us move radically in the removal of those who pose threats to our lives, to our wellness, to our light.
We are here for you as you reckon with your trauma, and will be here for you whenever you’re allowed some pathway to healing. A path we know will bear the footprint of George, forever.
Indeed, while we stand in solidarity with you and George, we will not pretend that his murder should somehow make you stronger, or deeper, or more connected to your Blackness. A Black life stolen is not a Black life martyred. You deserved better than the trauma you picked up on your way to the store this Memorial Day. And no planted peonies, lilies or orchids strewn across this pine box may be bright enough to create beauty atop a senseless grave.
But, Darnella, there is you. With air in your lungs, color in your cheeks and a story behind your eyes. And that, in the face of a white supremacist police state, is an act of resistance.
Thank you, Darnella.
Until the day that we may all be free,
Danielle Maya
