Last night I went to a graduation and during the speeches, awards and congratulatory pats on the back I kept thinking, "Do they know what they did?", "Do they know what they sacrificed?" or "Are they so self involved..." It seemed so odd to be sitting there in that auditorium as if nothing else was going on in the world. Don't get me wrong parents and families alike were as proud as proud can be, but to me it seemed so minute so miniscule in comparison to history being made right before our eyes. Our children's children will read about this in school.
It reminds me of our Native American Indians, who don't typically write their history down, but rather pass down stories from one generation to the next. Elders sitting in a room filled with younger generations on the edge of their seats listening to stories of how heroes sacrificed so they could be free from oppression. These heroes were just like them: shop owners, doctors, lawyers, vendors, people without jobs standing side by side. Ex-patriots came back to stand shoulder to shoulder with fellow countrymen, no matter their differences, all coming together willing to lay their lives on the line no matter what their status. Heck, even one American college student felt the calling, as I'm sure we all have, to go stand brother to brother as a human being, soldiers in arms for the greater good of humanity.
I wanted to stand up in that auditorium and shout, "Don't you see what they are and have sacrificed is for the greater good of human kind not just for themselves or their countrymen and women, but for all of us.", "This is a teachable moment we are no different, we are not separated by age, race, color, religion, nationality... we are all one, we are connected.", "This is the moment we love one another unconditionally, respect that no one person, group or country is more important than the other."
I have cried countless times watching videos, flipping through photos of the men, woman and children killed as if they were my children, mother or father, brother or sister, as if it was my obligation and in some small way bearing witness contributed to your struggle, to ensure it would not be forgotten. I've cried tears of joy and danced my room around like a maniac at your triumphs and fallen to my knees when finding out people I considered friends lost their lives. I can't count the number of times you've made me laugh out loud sharing some little twitter hashtag as to why one was late or how many versions of the "Zanga Zanga" remix we could find. It might seem strange to some, but I feel like we are family.
If i could have found a way to get there, there is NO doubt I would have. For now I am here, being your voice in hopes of reaching others who might otherwise have no idea of the truth. Thank you. Thank you for your friendship and allowing me, us, to be apart of your struggle for freedom, for a better life and to get to know you. I have learned so much. It truly is about LOVE.
As we left parting ways this final question came to mind, "Don't you know you are not whole, you are missing something, a part of yourself?"