Profoundly Disturbed

This morning I am profoundly disturbed.  Upon learning via Facebook of the murder of yet another Black man by police, I clicked on the link – http://tinyurl.com/j2tl7ja –  read the article, and watched the video over and over.   And over.  And over.

Profoundly disturbed?  Yes —

• disturbed that while I cringe at horror movies I could calmly (at least outwardly so) view the real life killing of a human being

• disturbed that the sight of Hannibal Lecter is more than I can bear, but I would prefer to see someone of his ilk approaching my vehicle rather than a police officer

• disturbed by the realization that no matter what posture Mr.  Crutcher assumed, regardless of what “command” he may have followed – or not – most likely he would have been killed

• disturbed by the recent memory of driving home from the circus in fear of being stopped by police after learning that a headlight no longer worked.  (Yes, I am a 62-year-old woman, but something similar happened to my 67-year-old client and she was placed in the back of a police car while they checked her out.  This did not help her cardiac problems.)

• disturbed that I have a brother whom I love dearly, who is educated, a brilliant chemistry geek, a Biblical wizard whose dinner-table sermons should be heard by the masses, well-spoken, happily retired, and licensed to carry a gun – and is a Black man, and therefore statistically more likely to be stopped by police than any other man in this country.

• disturbed that all lives in this country do not matter – because at least 12% of them don’t – and they are Black.   Like me.