By Rahem Mulatu
I want to come to you with my raw feelings of pain, anguish, tears, and a heavy heart. I want you to feel and see my vulnerability. I plead with you to not disregard or diminish my sorrow. I am grieving My Dear White Friends! You are My White Friends that welcomed me with an open heart when you saw me at the office, grocery store, library, school, park, church, movie theater, community center, gym, City Hall, and restaurants. Even though I could not show you my vulnerability because I did not want you to think
of me as timid or aggressive, I am carrying years of pain caused by the implicit and explicit bias of discrimination. Unfortunately, to make you feel safe and comfortable, I made sure to stay in the imaginary box you created for me and continue to be an abiding citizen in the system and institution you chose for me.
My Dear White Friends, you might say, “I was not there to create those systems and institutions to choke you literally and figuratively.”
But, I ask, “Where were you when they chose to defund the education system so my neighborhood school was left without support while expected to educate me? Where were you when they left my neighborhoods without grocery stores for miles and filled it with liquor and convenience stores? Where were you when they decided my neighborhood did not need parks, sidewalks, and street lights that function?” My Dear White Friends, I know you are health conscious, but did you know that I am stricken with chronic illnesses, which could have been prevented if I was able to access healthy food and medical care? Where were you when the police officer who swore to serve and protect all pulled me over and made me pray that I wouldn’t die that day? My Dear White Friends, the education, health, justice, political, and economic systems have been putting their knees on my neck, only allowing me the breath needed for mere basic survival – But you chose silence!
I beg you, My Dear White Friends, find it deep in your heart to understand my frustration if you see me cry, scream, and protest peacefully. Do you not agree that I should breathe the same air you breathe? Walk and drive on the streets without fear as you do? Would you not agree that I should receive a quality education and good health care? Why should I be denied the same opportunities and promotions you are afforded simply based on the amount of melanin in my skin?
My Dear White Friends, hear me out – I have gifts, talents, passions, hopes, and aspirations as you do -do not disqualify me because of my skin color. I have great things to offer to our nation. Our differences make us beautiful, strong, and great. Please, do not let adversity lead us to utter destruction. My Dear White Friends, your silence is blocking my breathing. You are the privileged who must use your privilege for a good cause to ‘unchain’ and ‘unlock’ your friends like me who do not have that privilege.
Your Black Friend
Rahem Mulatu grew up in the suburbs of Denver where she went to high school and college. She knows her community well and continues to build strong relationships. Her mother instilled in her the importance of serving others through her talents, resources, and time. As she matures and continues to grow in her passion, she has realized how salient it is to be part of the solution in the world that rapidly changes and continues to present different challenges. She continues to use her educational background, skills, and work experience in various places in her community. Her motto in life is ‘we all have a purpose in this world, which is to make our community a better place.’ She reminds herself to always strive to do what is best for all!
“I wrote this essay to share my honest feelings, but also to awaken consciousness and shed light on issues that continue to negatively impact Black people. Most importantly, to challenge everyone to take his/her part, question his/her innate motives, biases, intentions, and move forward as humans to make this place a safe and thriving community for all to live through diverse and thoughtful solutions.”
We are so grateful to Ms. Mulatu for sending this essay to us. We passed this around BookBar staff, reading it several times, letting it really sink in, and letting it move us as it was intended to. We decided that we didn’t want to keep this beautiful essay to ourselves so we are delighted to share it with you with her permission.
Thank you for writing this. Because of you I am joining a group at work. We’re determined to do better. I have a number of dear black friends and never occurred to me that feelings were being held inside. This has got to stop, prejudicial treatment has got to stop and the violence has got to stop.
This is extraordinarily beautiful, albeit chilling. These words offer us a rare and unobstructed glimpse into a human soul, crying to be seen. I want you to know that I love you, and express how unbelievably sorry I am that white America — myself included — has taken such a long time to say that to you.
It strikes me that the refrain “Black Lives Matter”, important as it has been, is also painfully bleak. Of course state authorities should not be lynching Black Americans in their homes and on the streets. We are in the two thousand and twentieth year of our lord and we can do a whole lot better than that.