I keep making the mistake of waking up to the news. Eating the toxins that even a leg day workout can’t release. I make the mistake of shedding another tear and retreating into my pillow so that my breathing is muffled. I cry heavy. It feels like the world has become one big mess. As a community organizer I feel pressured to know what’s happening at home and afar. As a black woman who has been in the middle of the tug-of-war, I know the need to let go of the rope that forces blisters to grow in the middle of my palm. It never fills with enough water to be popped by a pin. The surface hardens. One part of me yearns to tell the story of the men and women who have carried me, the ones who still do. Their natural instinct is to care for each other and the earth, yet we still continue to be cycled through the tornado of poverty and crime. The cops still massacre black boys and girls who carry their caps and gowns home from school. The boys and girls who are social media sensations with fans all over the world; it doesn’t really matter that they have graduated, are entrepreneurs, are human. There are moments I have believed the lies without asking or wanting the truth. The videos are streaming. From today. From yesterday. Some prepared for the war that will soon arrive.

The news reports often begin in the middle of the story. Some parts of the story are paraphrased and fixed to fit specific audiences. The news isn’t for me, not when it’s reporting about black lives and the violence they experience as if they are disposable objects. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (2009) has coined the term “single story.” In her TED Talk she describes the story of Fide, a houseboy her family hired when she was a child. She describes the pity she felt until she visited his village. She came to discover the missing pieces of the story as opposed to one of poverty defining his very existence. She had been receiving one part of the story and thus never saw the beginning that would change her analysis of who he was and his needs. She came to the conclusion that Fide was made up by a multitude of stories.

The danger that’s presented in Fide’s single story also resides in the media construction of black lives and the active resistance through protest, riots and rallies. When Baltimore youth protested in response to the death of Freddie Gray, they were immediately identified as unruly youth without guidance. They were condemned for what I saw as a cry to the system; the young people were saying that they refuse to be next on the list of names. I believe if it were not for the young people who took the streets America would not look closer at Baltimore and the people who call it home. The media also presented the story as an unruly walkout, a push against the school administration when later this was acknowledged as false. Protesters and organizers actively began to name the riots and protest as an uprising to send a clear statement about current and later actions that would arise.

The single story is a way to perpetuate stereotypes, thus decreasing the dignity of one’s identity and humanness. If the system continues to see black women as welfare queens suited for dehumanization and the black man as it’s field slave, I’m afraid there will be no room for another story to arise. We must continue to disrupt the cycle of the single story and govern the power held within our narratives. We must tear off the veil that covers our eyes, chew through the tightrope, and push against each barrier.