Eff You ‘Merica, You Let Omar Down

Yesterday, millions of inhabitants donned their favorite red, white and blue attire. Star shirts and striped socks. White linen shorts and dresses hugging rolling hills. Red lips puckered to cameras: "Happy Fourth!" Eyes raised to the flag, fingertips to brows, in salute. "From sea to shining sea."

I took no parts in this. My celebration consisted of my allegiance to family and food. I stuffed my face with ribs, burgers, roti, curry, Mac and cheese. White plates, blue drank, red solo cups, my own patriotism. Why show respect to a country that doesn't have its stuff together? One that makes me mourn just a few hours after a day of celebration because our neighborhoods aren't safe enough for our bright young minds to exist in?

I didn't know Omar Sykes personally, but family is family, and I grieve all the same. He was a Bison and I could assume the following: He was a black man defying the odds against him. He gave a damn about his education. He liked to turn up and have fun. He had hopes, dreams and attainable goals. He had friends and family with love in their hearts, who now have tears in their eyes. He was building a legacy. He had places to go. Now the next place he has to go is to the Coroner’s office. And it's your damn fault America.

It's your fault that the fun we all had has to come to a screeching halt because making a city safe is the last thing on your to-do list. It's the one missing thing on your scroll of accomplishments. Roughly 17,186 people have died from guns in the United States since the Newtown shootings, yet gun control is not a big enough topic to get all hands on deck to fix it. Ah, I see. Because figuring how to get the tax figures just so is more important. Because policing how people love each other is more important. Because throwing nails in the President's path to improvement is more important. Because saving George Zimmerman is more important. Because the NRA is more important. The ownership of guns all willy-nilly can wait. Sandy Hook can wait. Chicago can wait. Washington, D.C.—my second home—can wait. Omar Sykes can wait.

And you sit there marveling at the gleam of your own reflection, shining stars and stripes. As idyllic an image as you can muster up. Trickery to the eyes, because only we can see the piles of dirt you swept under the rug in pursuit if trivial novelties. Mounds and mounds of unaccounted for dirt. A tainted name that still resounds across the world as this great nation. Please. You're reaching. And you're still sweeping. America the Great? I'll believe it when I see it.


RIP Omar. I hope things will change.

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