#BlackLivesMatter Lauryn McNair

Rioters. Looters. Thugs. This is what comes out of the continued killing of black people. Not hurt, scared, angry people who have a right to be so. Not people who feel no security in our law system. Not scared mothers who have to teach their sons the "right" way to speak to the police. Not terrified aunts who hope no one mistakes that toy in your nephews hand for a gun. Not humans, but things. This is a picture of a Ferguson protester, or rioter, or rebel, or whatever label helps America go to sleep at night. A protestor who was fed up with how black people, black bodies, are treated and viewed in this country. A country who promises freedom and equality. This picture shocked many Americans. For many people, they were outraged. In what circumstance should anyone tear down a city? Break into a building? Rip up the American Flag? The flag that so many people died for, the flag that represents our freedom? The freedom that allows you to burn down this wonderful flag. For me it was shock too. But for a different reason. How was anyone surprised this time? In a country which started a war over taxes, how could you possibly be surprised that one day we would get fed up too? That we were tired of getting attacked by dogs when we held up signs. Tired of having houses burnt down when we gave speeches. Tired of being killed for simply existing. Do I agree with breaking into buildings and setting fire to things? Of course not. But do I understand where it's coming from? Absolutely. When I look at this picture I don't see a rioter or looter or thug. I see a man who's done. A man who's done with being scared, of holding his tongue, of quelling his rage. A man who's tired of seeing people being made into hashtags. A man who's tired of me going to bed every night, praying that when the men in my family run into police, they live to see another day.