By ChaKiara Tucker
For the majority of my life, I lived in the panhandle of North Florida. Tallahassee, to be exact. I vividly remember my neighborhoods, my schools, and my friends. They were all filled with people who looked like me. They were Black. Every celebratory event was more like a family reunion; various shades of black people laughing, dancing and celebrating together.
While I will always love the place I once called home, I can never forget this is the same state that granted a man freedom after he killed an unarmed Black child in his own neighborhood. The death of Trayvon Martin shook Black communities to their core. I had never seen my brothers and sisters with such broken spirits and somber eyes. But it was not enough for us to sit idly and allow this horrific reality to play itself out. We rose up, we united, we marched, and we fought for justice. Trayvon’s killer, whose name doesn’t deserve a mention, was only arrested after our communities pressured the State of Florida. In the end, there was no justice for Trayvon.
It is now 2017 and for the last three years, I have been living in sunny San Diego, California. While I didn’t relocate here in search of refuge from racial profiling, systematic racism and oppression, I did suspect that California would be more lax than Florida.
I was wrong.
In 2015 I was hired by Alliance San Diego, a local social justice organization, and I was introduced to the horrifying injustices that were taking place in both Black and Brown (Latino) communities. There was one particular case in the Mexican community that stood out to me. It was the death of Anastasio Hernandez-Rojas, a longtime San Diego resident who was brutally beaten to death by over a dozen federal border agents. Seeing videos of Anastasio’s wife and his children weep for him left familiar feelings of sorrow, pain, and confusion in my heart. It felt like Anastasio and his family were my kin. And just like the stories from home, the officers who killed Anastasio were set free. In fact, they were never arrested. It was at that moment that I realized that Black and Brown communities have much more in common than melanized skin.
We are facing ever-increasing militarized police forces and a culture of violence and impunity from those are supposed to protect and serve our communities. This includes border agents. In Black and Brown Communities the family dynamic is the very cornerstone of our strength. How can we thrive, prosper and grow when the very same officers who pledge to protect our borders and our communities murder us with impunity?
Black and Brown faces in this country are the new majority. We are the present. We are the future. It’s time to join our struggles.
I am calling on Black and Brown communities across San Diego and beyond to stand up, unite and make our presence felt. Whether at a city council meeting or a community protest, we must stand together against our oppressors.
I envision communities where we can allow our children to go outside to play and not worry about them being shot in the streets by law enforcement, whether it’s police officers or border agents. I am tired of my brothers and sisters being criminalized and brutalized in our own neighborhoods, whether they are Black or Brown.
I envision Brown and Black faces sitting at the table with legislators discussing laws that will strengthen our communities and promote development and growth. I invite you to stand with me, arm in arm, Black and Brown.
We must be the change we want to see!
ChaKiara Tucker is a communications and public relations coordinator at Alliance San Diego. She can be reached at [email protected].
