The Art of Expression: Color of Protest
Protest in its purest form is expression and expression in its purest form is art.
As of June 2nd, cities across all 50 states have gathered to protest the murders of Black men and women at the hands of the police force and an unjust judicial system. They have gathered to release the emotion that has been silenced for too long. They have gathered because it has been made clear that many either refuse or are unable to feel their pain. They have gathered to create art.
Art is not always beautiful nor is it always peaceful but it forces you to feel.
For those who refuse to feel our pain, we will make sure you can hear it. You will hear it from the rooftops through the cries and yells that Black lives do in fact matter. You will hear it when the Black man honks the horn of his Con Edison truck in solidarity with the people helping fight for his life. You will hear it through the booms of the drums. You will hear it every time we give those sirens another reason to wail as they attempt to quiet both us and our allies.
If you dare refuse to hear it, we will make sure you see it. You will see it the shattered glass of windshields, so broken that you cannot recognize your own reflection. You will see it as the Black man dances to no other music except the cheers of the people. You will see it in the bright pigments of spray paint and tinted smoke bombs. You will see it with the LGBTQ rainbow flag and on the clothes we use to cover our Brown & Black bodies. You will see it as the youth pops wheelies on the hot asphalt of the New York City streets.
We will express ourselves and we will do it loudly. We will do so unapologetically until our modes of expression bring justice to the Black men and women who will never again have the opportunity to do so for themselves. It will be until we too can picnic with our sundresses and our sun hats instead of pleading for our lives to be valuable enough.
We will utilize the art of expression until everyone realizes that a system that was created to marginalize us can never protect us. It will be until the man dressed to keep the city safe cannot see it as righteous to smile while a club is in his grasp. It will be until the Black policeman does not roll his eyes when I ask him why he will not look me in the face. It will be until the Afro Latina cop cannot find it in herself to puff her chest and look at me in contempt when I ask her if she too is as fearful as the rest of us. It will be when an Asian man does not stop me on 14th Street to tell me “Black lives do not matter”.
This is not only a reality for New York City. This is the reality for our nation, our world, our diaspora. In this time, you will either help us make history or watch it be made. Most importantly while this history is made, we will be sure to say their names.
(All photos were taken and edited by Rachel M / ‘Therealrjm’)