FEELING IN MY GUT

October 2025

“I can’t tell you what’s next.”

That’s part of the conversation we had at the dinner table as I struggled to figure out where this feeling of disillusionment in America came from.  My America, the land of the free and the home of brave bumps and grinds its way through turbulent times while a leader I have nothing in common with, revels in dishonor, disrespect, and disorder.  A few days ago, I watched someone’s well-orchestrated TikTok post preach hard-hitting truth by asking questions about what African Americans could possibly be threatened with today that we haven’t already experienced.

“We already couldn’t go to your schools, we already couldn’t live in your neighborhoods, we already couldn't shop in your stores, we already had to sit at the back of the bus, we already filled out your jails, we already had our zip codes redlined, we already had our votes suppressed, we already had our families separated, we already had our men profiled, we already had our women objectified…”

Those truths beg the question, what threats to the culture of Black America are left to attack?

The list sounds pretty complete to me.  I listen and watch as the repulsive party, led by agent orange, demeans and condemns black and brown Americans, veterans, immigrants, gay, lesbian, and trans individuals, along with a host of others across this great land of ours.  The attacks on communities of innocent people, stripping them of their rights, assaulting, and hauling them away like cattle has become commonplace.  Many areas, including our Nation’s Capital, have been transformed into a police state – all in the name of law and order.  It’s shameful, it’s embarrassing, and it has to stop.

Lately, I’ve not slept well.  Some nights I toss and turn, thinking about those who are impacted by cruelty, the likes of which we haven’t seen since the days of our nation’s civil rights struggle.  My memories of those days in the 1950s and 1960s are traumatically vivid.  The events were broadcast on network television.  Firehoses blasting, Billy-clubs beating, police boots kicking, strong arms twisting, and attack dogs biting law abiding citizens.  Back then, through the eyes of this 10-year-old, it was clear that people who looked like me and my family were not welcome in this country.  The same country I read about in my elementary schoolbooks.  The same schoolbooks that never said a word about the contributions of my ancestors, or other people of color, to the success of this great land of ours.  Not one word.

Fast-forwarding a mere sixty years, the rights my family fought for, the same ones I’ve enjoyed since my teenage years, are being stripped away.  Human rights taken away – not quietly, but boldly – in proud fashion, with the stroke of a pen.  In the middle of the night, my pulse quickens, my brow beads with sweat.  I think about the more than 300,000 African American women who are now out of work, living on the fringe, unable to afford the high cost of feeding, clothing, and housing a family.  I realize this is not a dream, it is real life.  I tell myself, enough is enough.

I return to the question, the question my parents probably asked, “What’s next?”

End