If I’m Murdered, Read This as My Eulogy

If you are reading this, then it is my turn to be a hashtag

In the past few months, the world has been overwhelmed with images of Black death at every turn.

As a Black professional, I must be conscious of what I say, how I say it, and how it might offend anyone — because heaven forbid someone is more outraged at my pain, anger, and frustration than the actual loss of human life. But what are we teaching Black youth if we don’t speak up? If we don’t fight for our right to exist? Because I am willing to speak up, I am risking my professional career and my life. I have grappled with this fact and am now driven to write down my truth, narrative, and pain.

If you are reading this, then it is my turn to be a hashtag. Hopefully, my spouse and children are not tormented by a video where they watch my life slip away, slowly leaving my body as my last words become famous on a protest sign. Hopefully, when you learn of my name because my life has come to an end, you see a picture of me smiling — you see the love in my eyes, the love I have for my wife, the love I have for my children, for my students, for Black people. Hopefully, my students will speak about some positive impact I had on them. Hopefully, my friends are lifting up my name.