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Do Black Lives Matter?

Last week I was in Saint Louis, MO checking on a home I own. A day ago I was in New York visiting a client. Throughout each visit, I was peppered with “Black Lives Matter” and “I’m Michael Brown.”

Black Lives Matter started as a conversation on Facebook between two black women in two different cities – Oakland and Los Angeles. One friend wrote adding a hash tag to the three words that became a modern day slogan. And thus, “Black Lives Matter” was born.

After having a “Black Lives Matter” sign stuck in my face while stopped at an intersection near a store in Clayton, Missouri and watching New York protesters, I gave serious thought to the following statement.

Black lives son’t matter.

Before smoking steam, allow me to opine.

Having been a Saint Louis, Missouri resident and still owning a home, I bring forth the following observations.

Lastly, we have to give our police officers a break. Society straps a gun to their waste and tells them to save us from ourselves. These officers deal with our shit and we expect only perfection. Borrowing from Chapin, they see pimps and whores, rapes and more, punk gang wars, robberies and homicides. They walk the beat with the creeps of the street, it’s damn hard to hide. A police officer recently said,

“The first 5 years I felt good about who I was and what I was doing. That was until I realized I was a a social janitor. “Clean up in isle 9.” Someone vomited.”

I believe neither Brown nor Garner should be dead. However, we don’t have the audacity to claim impose our smug self-imposed judgement based upon prejudice. Justice for the few is not justice for all.

Every life has to matter. And believing Black Lives Matter requires participation. Society must participate in something beyond yelling, screaming and looting. It has to be meaningful and with love.

Anything less than full participation means “Black lives won’t matter.

And who’s responsible? You and I.

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